


Under New Management - The Iceman and the Tiger Sniper

by SniperMoran



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Comfort, Depression, M/M, Mycroft Has A Heart, Mycroft is a human being, PTSD, Panic Attack, Sebastian has astraphobia, Sebastian hears Jim's voice in his head, Sebastian is the best damn sniper, Sebcroft - Freeform, hintings or torture, loyalty abound, rarepair, sherrinford, touches on the death of James Moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9486770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SniperMoran/pseuds/SniperMoran
Summary: (AU idea plot bunnied by myself and the ever lovely writer #Mushu over on @FirstBornHolmes)The Iceman captured the Tiger Sniper to gain information regarding James Moriarty, but during the time the sniper was held captive, the Magpie fell. At the loss of his boss--and lover--Sebastian has nothing, and no-one in the world.Mycroft takes up the opportunity and hires him as his own. What was he thinking?For personal reasons, this fic is no longer updating





	1. Manipulation and Control

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely plot bunnying with the writer of Twitter account @FirstBornHolmes, I now have a rareship/rarepair and I just adore the ever loving crap out of them!

He knew Sebastian Moran’s whereabouts – and in knowing that, he could control the man. He left notes, occasionally signing them with a cryptic ‘M’ – but that was mostly to scare the man.  
M. Moriarty. Moran. Mycroft.  
But on day he sent for the man. he had information that Mycroft needed.  
And he would extract it.  
And perhaps…Just perhaps, he would use the man further and put him on the Queen’s payroll, so to speak.  
He could be useful.

The notes that were left at job sites, where he would set up his rifle, were starting to get to the sniper. He didn’t know how to handle that someone was following him, knowing where he’d be at any moment of time. Well, aside from his boss, but that was a different story entirely. When a car waited outside one of the buildings after a job, he tried to make a run for it, not knowing what was in store, but not exactly wanting to know either.  
He was chased, of course he was, and they tackled him to the ground before dragging him to the car, having to cuff him to keep him from trying to get away again. They shoved him into the car and he growled angrily before settling in, seeing no obvious alternative.

He’s sitting in the backseat, umbrella resting lazily between two hands.  
His head tilts, eyes finding Sebastian.  
“Good afternoon,” he says in greeting. “Don’t you look a bit…ruffled. Did we catch you at a bad time?”  
They needed information from this man. Desperately. And Mycroft was willing to do just about anything to get it.  
/Just about anything./  
They’d start off torturing him.  
But…somewhere, down in the recesses of Mycroft’s mind… He know, one way or another, that he’d wind up recruiting Moran. he knew that much, at least.

Sebastian turned to the owner of the voice and glared. Mycroft Holmes. He’d seen the face of the man only in pictures in files on his boss’ desk and computer before. He was supposed to be intimidating, and perhaps some part of the sniper’s brain was…at least worried, but altogether his curiosity was winning over the fear or worry. “So you’re the one that’s been leaving the damned notes, eh Mr. Holmes?” He asked, smirk twisting the corners of his lips upwards. “Don’t you think these cuffs are a bit unnecessary?” He asked, playfully coy. He had to try keeping the ball in his court, keep it his move as long as he could, and not give the other man the upper hand. Whatever it was that this man wanted, he couldn’t give it to him, no matter what.

That snarl. Mycroft almost chuckles. This man has spirit, fire.  
“I rather think they are necessary. You are the second most dangerous man in this country. Handcuffs are…required.”  
He tilts his head, then gazes away.  
“You have information that I need. We can procure it in a difficult manner, or the easy one.  
It’s your choice, Moran.”

Sebastian smirked and scoffed, averting his gaze with an eye roll. “Oh sod off if you think I’m going to make anything easy for you, Mr. Holmes.” he growled, twisting his hands a bit, trying to wriggle his way out of the cuffs. “I don’t know what you want to know, but you’re going to have to work your ass off for it.” he breathed.

He doesn’t say another word.  
When they arrive at the facility, Sebastian’s face is covered and he’s dragged to the cold, damp basement.  
This could have been easier. But, if it’s all the same, Mycroft admires the assassin’s stubborn tendencies.  
He has to be this way, Moran — surely due to his employer.

By no means does he make their job easy, dragging him to wherever it is he was being dragged. He struggled and thrashed, doing his damnedest to pull away. So this was the hard way of doing things, then. Eventually, he stopped struggling, figuring he should save the remainder of his strength for whatever the Iceman had in store for him in an attempts to pry information from him. Whatever it was, he needed to hold out.

Mycroft is annoyed. Irritated.  
Sebastian is holding up rather well in response to everything. But that’s when the news comes — it’s all over the tell.  
Mycroft is less affected, only because he’d concocted this plan with the help of his brother. They did it together.  
The fall at St. Bart’s. All of it. Down to the letter.  
The elder Holmes wanders into the holding cell where they’re keeping Sebastian — the timing damn near perfect.  
“We should talk,” Mycroft says, eyeing the bludgeoned assassin.  
“Moriarty is dead.”


	2. Fall of the Magpie

Sebastian’s glare falters for a moment, only a moment. It’s just a ploy, he tells himself. Another dirty fucking trick to get him to talk. Definitely the most devious, and the lowest hit that the man had come up with thus far, so he must be getting desperate, he thinks. “Is this what it’s come to, Mr. Holmes?” He asked, turning his head slightly to spit the iron taste from his mouth. He’s sure his blood litters this floor as it was anyway. “Resorting to such desperate tricks to try and break me? Even if that were true…I’m loyal to him. Even beyond the grave.” He said, eyes as steely as they could seem behind sickly bruises.

Something in Mycroft softens. He can’t explain it. This man is loyal. Loyal to the end.  
“It’s not a trick,” he merely says to Sebastian. “Would you like proof?”  
/Get on his good side. Show him you’re human./  
Those are Mycroft’s only thoughts as he approaches the chair Sebastian is sat in. Wordlessly, he unlocks the assassin’s handcuffs and lets him go free, free to sit there or stand or do whatever he would like.  
Out comes Mycroft’s phone, opening the news to show the man.  
“I have been prone to lying throughout my life, I grant you, but this…This isn’t a trick, Moran.”

Sebastian is surprised by the foolish gesture of unlocking his cuffs, but finds himself entirely too weak to push himself from the chair to attack the man, as he was want to do. Instead, he rubbed at his aching wrists and looked at the phone screen offered to him. It was open to a news page about — The sniper’s eyes widened, his blood running cold. “No…” he breathed, and the breaking of his heart was evident on his face. “No, he…” he shook his head, refusing to believe it, even though it was right in front of him. He knew his boss had a flare for the dramatic but this…would he really end the game this way? Was this really what everything had been leading up to? His breathing came in shallow little bursts, almost as though he kept forgetting he needed to breathe to survive. He kept himself together for so long, sat there staring at the screen, but he couldn’t hold it together forever and finally he let his face fall into his hands, his jaw clenched, though the action caused him pain. “….what a foolish king…” he breathed, his voice cracking.

Mycroft is no fool. He knew Sebastian was weak. Too weak to cause him injury.  
He draws a chair over, the sound nauseating on the cement floor.  
He sits down in front of the assassin, speaking quietly.  
“It doesn’t…have to be this way. You down here, being beaten to a bloody pulp.”  
He sighs.  
“You have an out. One that doesn’t require betraying Moriarty.”  
Oh, he is devious. He always has been.  
“If I offer you a position with Her Majesty’s MI5 unit, would you accept? Full pardon…protection…”  
He crosses his arms over his chest, gauging Moran carefully. “You can be more than this. And you know it’s true.”

Sebastian is far too lost in his own thoughts to realize that this is perhaps another trick. He picks his head up to look at the other man, searching his face for a moment. “What would I have to do? To…to join or what kind of work would I be doing?” He asked, voice rough and broken. There was a large part of him that just wanted to stay here, let the Iceman’s men beat him until he died, which they would, one way or another. He wouldn’t give them the information they wanted, even though there was practically no point keeping it safe now. But there was another part of him, the part whose voice sounded very much like Moriarty in his head, that told him he would be ‘wasted like this Tiger’. He had so much left to give and to do, and he should give this opportunity a chance.

It worked. This man, this assassin, is slowly working his way over to the good side.  
Mycroft expected more of a fight. Far more.  
His eyes linger on the man’s bruised face, even as he continues speaking.  
“Your talents, Mr. Moran, would not go to waste. We would give you targets. Terrorists…Spies…”  
He leans forward, unknowingly speaking the words of Moriarty that were in Moran’s mind.  
“Don’t allow yourself to /waste away/ here. Do your job and do it well, but do it for me now.”

Sebastian froze, those words on this man’s lips sounded strange but not altogether unpleasant. He swallowed heavily, wanting to say no. Wanting to fight, wanting to…but he couldn’t. He didn’t have any strength left, and the news he had been given had taken away all the reserve he had left. Nodding his head simply, the sniper gave in, broken. “As you wish…” he murmured, his voice quiet and barely above a whisper. He felt a pang in his chest then. He hadn’t given up information on Moriarty, just as he had promised himself he never would, but this still felt like a betrayal all the same.

He merely arches a single brow, then sits back comfortably.  
“Alright,” he merely says. “But if you ruin this…Trust me when I say they’ll never find your body.”  
Gentle, yet threatening.  
He calls to the guards. one opens the door — a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes.  
“Get this man some first aid. He could use a shower, too. And something to eat.”  
This was Mycroft rewarding the man. Sebastian could be something spectacular. Time to show him that.

Sebastian smirked, looking up from under his hair at the elder Holmes. “I’d love to go toe to toe with you, Mr. Holmes. …without the light bondage, of course.” he said playfully. He was beaten and bruised, but he was always one for poking the beast. His eyes flicked to the other man that had entered the room, looking him over. If he were in a better condition, he could probably easily overpower him, but he was in no condition to overpower even a small child. “Thank you…” he muttered after a moment, the smile falling and his face going serious. “Stupid thing to say, seeing as you put me in this damned position…but you could have easily finished me off instead of—…so thank you.” he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seriously in love with this pair because of the writing I'm doing with @FirstBornHolmes.


	3. Faith, Trust, and...

Finally feeling human again, Sebastian was siting at a dining table, food on a plate in front of him. He stared down at the food, a bit lost in his own thoughts, still trying to come to terms with the news he’d been given and that he was now playing for the other team. He looked down at all the bandages covering his body and sighed. “I’m practically a fucking mummy…” he muttered to himself.

There comes a knock at the door. It’s Mycroft. At least he’s polite.  
He enters, noting the state Moran is in. Crossing the room, a file in hand, he has himself a seat across from the assassin.  
“Feeling better, I hope? You look better.”  
That caring side to him — it’s faint, subtle, but it’s also /real/. He does care for Sebastian. It would be easy. He admires the man.  
He sets the file down before nudging it Sebastian’s way.  
“This is for you. A gift. For next month. We’ll be having an important meeting of sorts here, in London. This man, although he thinks he’s safe, is actually joining us with a mission — to wear a bomb, to take out as many…important figureheads as possible. Your job, when the time comes, is to take him out before he even reaches the meeting hall.”  
A big job. It shows the trust he places in this man.

Sebastian looks up from his absent staring at his bandages when the other man walks in and his focus moves to the file when it is offered to him. He reaches up gingerly and flips open the file, eyes scanning over it as he listened to Mycroft speak. “Should be easy enough…” he murmured absently, looking over the information that was provided. “Do we have any clue as to what kind of bomb he’ll be wearing? Who might have made it? Is it pressure sensitive? Will he be holding a trigger, or is there someone else triggering this thing?” he asked, wanting to jump right into the gathering of the information he might need. It was better to think about the job than to think about — He pushed that train of thought away, re-focusing on the file in front of him. If it weren’t too complicated a bomb, and all he had to do was make sure this man didn’t make it into that meeting, this job would be a walk in the park. That’s when something clicked and he looked up from the file to the other man, his brow furrowed in a bit of confusion. “…you’re putting a lot of faith in me for this, Mr. Holmes…why is that?” he asked, his voice quiet. He had, on numerous occasions, mostly unbeknownst to the man in front of him, pointed a gun at him or his brother. And now he was being trusted to protect people /for/ this man. It was a large vote of confidence on his behalf.

“I have faith in you,” he simply says, sitting back to cross his legs.  
“It’s a simple enough bomb. Rigged to a cell phone that he’ll be carrying with him. He’s done this before, with other ‘meetings’ in the country.”  
He sighs. “Only, this time, it’ll be a suicide mission, I’m afraid. He plans to have the apparatus attached to his person. A vest, no doubt. Or perhaps in his coat-lining.”  
Yes. This was putting a lot of faith in Sebastian but…he had to earn this man’s trust. And vice versa.  
“What do you think, Moran? Can you handle the job?”  
He eyes the man, curious as to what he’ll say in return.

Sebastian furrowed his brow as he listened to Mycroft speak, nodding a bit as he listened. “So the cell is the trigger then…” he murmured absently, humming a bit to himself, letting his eyes wander. “I can get my own equipment back, right?” he asked, looking at the other man then, expectantly. If he had access to his own equipment, he knew he had a cell phone jammer amongst his things, which would make it a bit more difficult for the target to use the cell phone as the trigger. But that would only buy him a little time while he took his shot, because the man would probably get frustrated and there were always other ways to set off a bomb. The sniper was so lost in his thoughts and his own planning that he didn’t even realize that he was staring at Mycroft. He pulled himself from his thoughts and blinked, quickly averting his gaze. “Ah…as long as I have the right equipment, this should be a walk in the park. I’ve done more difficult tasks before.” he said, shrugging, and instantly regretting that movement when it pulled at some of his wounds.

Mycroft can practically see the gears turning in the man’s mind.  
For a moment, he grins.  
“Your flat is as you left it. If you’re going to be working for us, for MI5, I see no point in touching your belongings. Do you?”  
What a risk. But this man, this /asset/, was entirely worth it.  
“Everything you’ll be needing is in that file,” he says, continuing. “If anything changes, you’ll be the first one I call. You needn’t worry.”  
Mycroft examines the man for a moment, wondering how he’s fairing — health-wise. His men put quite the beating on the man earlier in the week. But he seems to be healing up quite well now.

He sighed and nodded, looking at the untouched food in front of him and then across to Mycroft. “Are you going to eat with me?” he asked, steering away from the topic of work for a moment, at least outwardly. His brain was still turning and he was trying to make a list of the things he might need to pack into his rifle bag for this job. For sure he’d need that cell jammer, and he’d take his handgun just to be safe. Obviously he’d need his rifle, but that was a given. He’d have to scope out the area as well, checking what might be the best access point and where he would have the clearest shot…. He picked up his fork, and absently started to eat as his thoughts floated about. He hoped he’d be healed up properly in time for this job, now that he thought about that factor. “Mr. Holmes…what would you have done about this had I said no to your offer earlier?” he asked, the thought only just then occurring to him.

He’s a bit taken aback at the offer of lunch. He doesn’t — in all honesty — eat very much.  
“I was counting on you saying yes,” he admits.  
He knows what he would have done. But he’d rather not say those words aloud.  
“You aren’t a lost cause,” he goes on to say. “If my brother wasn’t you sure aren’t.”  
He just needed a bit of steering in the right direction. That’s all. Everyone does, from time to time.  
He flashes a polite, almost friendly smile.  
“Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already had luncheon.”  
A tiny white lie.  
“But still, thank you.”

The sniper could tell a lie when he heard one, but whether the other man ate or not was none of his damned business, so he kept his mouth shut, looking down at his own food again instead, eating slowly, his jaw still extremely sore, making chewing a bit of a difficult task. “You certainly keep putting a lot of faith in me…” he murmured, setting his fork down, deciding that eating was too difficult right now. “I’m not your brother, Mr. Holmes. Him, you at least grew up with. You knew him at his core, and I’m sure you’ve been keeping eyes on him since way back when.” he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, a dull ache behind them making his face scrunch up in a mixture of pain and thought. “But…I digress. You’re the one holding the leash. Can’t blame a wild beast for testing out the length he has to run with, hm?” he grinned, peeking one eye open to glance at the elder Holmes.

Mycroft’s eyes show his amusement at Sebastian’s words.  
The man isn’t wrong. In any way.  
“Of course,” he merely says, hand crossed in his lap.  
“I’m sure, in a week or so, you’ll be feeling much better. My men will take you home later.”  
/Do not mess this up, Moran/, Mycroft is thinking.  
Things could go badly. He’s praying they won’t. Things could go well for Sebastian. He already has his pardon. More will come. And nice paychecks as well.  
“I wouldn’t place the utmost trust in you if I didn’t know, beyond any doubt, that you could handle it.”

The sniper opened his eyes, sitting a bit more attentively, surprise touching his features. “Mr. Holmes…” He breathed, unsure what he could even say to a compliment of that caliber. That this man…That he put that much trust into him was beyond shocking, beyond grounding. “I don’t…thank you, I think.” He stammered, clearing his throat and reaching up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. How could this man compliment him so easily? Put so much trust into him like it was easy? His thoughts floated to Moriarty, for a split moment, and the sadness was evident in his face, before he pulled himself back into the moment. “So…what? I go on living in my—…in the flat I shared with—…with him, and you just…call on me when you need me?” He asked, struggling with the first part of the question, but trying to get a feel for how this business relationship worked with his new ‘master’.

Mycroft ached inside. He had lost someone once. A woman he’d grown to care for. And despite his hatred for Moriarty, he began to sympathize with the assassin.  
“You don’t need to,” he says quietly. “If you want a new flat, find a new flat. Perhaps that would be…easier.”  
To cope. To move on. To be…/okay/.  
He sighs.  
“I’ll occasionally call you, or come by to visit, wherever you may be living, and give you cases. Assignments. People of interest to either bring in or take out. You are the second most dangerous man in London for a reason, Moran. Now you’re the first. Put yourself to good use. You deserve it.”

A new flat? He mulled over that thought a moment, before he sighed and shook his head. “I haven’t lived alone for…years now. I suppose I’d rather live with a ghost of him than live with the ghost of myself.” He muttered, looking up at the other man, searching his face carefully. “I’m sorry.” He said suddenly, wanting nothing more than to reach out and squeeze the other man’s hand in reassurance. “For your loss, I mean.” He clarified after a moment, having seen something in the other man’s eyes that mirrored his own. He wasn’t necessarily good with feelings, but he could see pain in the other man and merely took a guess. “A-Anyway…thank you, Mr. Holmes. I would like to go, now, then…if you don’t have any further need of me for the moment. I have some plans I need to start putting together and a bag to pack. If you need anything,…suppose I’m at your beck and call now.” He said, a small smirk turning up the corners of his lips. “Should be fun.”

Affection — he shies away from it. Always.  
But Sebastian is being…sweet.  
He sends a soft — as soft as he can manage — smile the man’s way, saying, “Thank you.”  
It’s enough. It’ll have to be enough for now. Mycroft Holmes isn’t good at…/people/.  
With a soft sigh, he slowly rises from the table.  
“I’ll call for a car for you.”  
He sets a phone down in front of Seb, pausing before the man.  
“This is for you. If you need me. Or vice versa. If you have a question. Don’t hesitate to call.”

Sebastian froze, looking down at the phone, a new phone. He clenched his jaw, keeping his thoughts to himself as he reached up for the phone and pocketed it. “I’ll be sure not to bother you unless it’s rather important. You are a busy man and all, as I’ve been told.” He hummed, a small smirk touching his lips. When the car arrived, the sniper gave one last glance back at the man who had freed him and tipped an imaginary hat his way before getting in and being driven off back to his flat.


	4. Turbulent State of Mind

Sebastian paused, looking up at the other man when he spoke his first name. It felt strange hearing his name from the other man’s lips, the words to follow were even more…he didn’t know how to put it into words. This man had so much faith in him, had so much…he dated to think /care/ for him. And he didn’t deserve it, or rather, he didn’t feel that he deserved it. Not yet. But he would strive to deserve it. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes…” he whispered, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips slightly. His body seemed to relax, though his muscles were still mostly tense and his mind was still racing with the plans and thoughts. He swooped down, grabbing one of the papers on the ground. He looked it over before handing it to Mycroft. “This one is the one that I’ve been most focused on. This is, of course, assuming that this man comes in through the front. I would think that he would, but I have backup plans for it he doesn’t. I…what do you think of this plan? Is it acceptable?” he asked, more asking if it made sense to a mind that wasn’t riddled with anxiety.

The moment lingered between the two of them. An air of friendliness had suddenly come over them.  
He nudges Sebastian into the kitchen, which is practically barren, but clean. Thankfully.  
“I think you’re playing it smart on this one. As you probably should. Lives are at stake here. I think this is good work. You’ve certainly done your homework.” Mycroft’s gaze moves from the paper before him up higher, to Sebastian’s knackered features.  
“You need a warm meal, and a decent night’s rest. Have you eaten today?”  
He arches a brow, silently observing the man.

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I ah…actually don’t remember the last time I ate.” he murmured, taking a moment to think. “…when was it that I was sitting with you and eating?” he asked, a sheepish look on his face, as he realized that that was the last time he remembered eating. He’d been sure to drink, of course, more than just whiskey, but food…That took time that he had preferred putting into pouring over his plans and diagrams. “And I’m sure I’ve caught ah…naps here and there. But I haven’t slept through a night in…weeks.” he muttered, sighing. “I can put on the kettle if you want some tea? To warm you up. Don’t want you catching cold. I’m sure I could also grab you a towel or something to dry off.” he added, eyes flitting over Mycroft, noticing the dampness. “Must be coming down if you’re still wet, even with an umbrella…”

Oh, Mycroft knows he’s on rather thin ice with this one. With him. He’s already too attached.  
He smiles — briefly — and nods his head.  
“A cuppa would be lovely. I’ll be alright, though. Thank you, about the towel, all the same.”  
He looks over the picture Sebastian had given him again, then sets it aside.  
This man was a hired killer. He /knew/ what he was doing.  
“Shall I…call for a takeaway? You need to eat. And don’t fight me on this.”  
Funny, that. His mother says the very same words to him whenever he’s over for Holiday dinners, as painful as they are.  
“Anything in particular that you’d like?”

The frazzled sniper nodded and shuffled across to the kitchen and put the kettle on, rummaging through the cabinets to find the tea and also mugs. “Ah…Are you going to eat with me this time, or will this be another solo endeavor?” he asked, peering around the cabinet to flash a grin at Mycroft. “Not that I mind, of course. You’ve got your…personal things, I’ve got mine. I won’t pry. But…if you’re not going to be eating with me, I’d prefer to pay for my own, if I can help it.” he hummed, eyes widening as a gasp of triumph passed his lips. He grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and also the tea. “How do you take yours, Mr. Holmes? Any special way?” he asked, peering around the cabinet again. He dared to believe that…this felt normal. This is what normal was. /He/ felt normal. His heart rate had gone to a more usual beat, his breathing was calmer, his body didn’t feel like he would explode because of standing still. The panic had, at least for the time being, passed.

With pursed lips, he merely nods his head.  
“No, no—“  
He stops, /almost/ smiling.  
“I’ll join you. My treat. And light, please. Light, with one sugar.”  
He orders a bit of takeaway for them from a restaurant he fancies from around the corner.  
He won’t deprive himself tonight. He’s barely eaten today.  
Things with Sebastian are…moving along. The assassin seems comfortable now. Better.  
Mycroft won’t ruin that for him. He’ll stay a while. Reassure him that he’ll do marvelously tomorrow morn.  
All will pass in time — the nervousness, the anxiety, the depression. Sebastian will heal. All he needs is time to mourn, first.

He simply nodded and when the kettle went off he made up the two cups of tea, bringing the lighter and less sugary one to the other man, handing it over. “Light and one sugar.” he said, smiling lightly. “And…thank you, Mr. Holmes. I know you probably have much more pressing matters to take care of.” he hummed, beckoning for the man to sit and relax. He looked around the flat and sighed. “He’d absolutely /kill/ me if he saw the state this place was in…” he muttered to himself as he took a seat in his chair. “When I was younger, my older brother always taught me that the state of the room around a person reflects the state of their mind.” he said absently, taking a sip from his tea, feeling the warm liquid bring warmth to his body. “Do you find that’s the case for you, Mr. Holmes?” he asked, trying to make light conversation, but also possibly learn a bit about the man he was now going to be dedicating his time and efforts to.

He eyes Sebastian for a long moment, eyes examining, before speaking.  
“Well…People think perfectionists don’t have but usually the opposite is true. You’re a perfectionist. It shows through your work.”  
He sips at his tea before continuing.  
“Cluttered mind often show, most often, in the state of our homes. Our personal space. You…need to trust yourself. You need to…stop overthinking everything.”  
He sets his cuppa back down onto its saucer, his brows furrowing.  
“I have faith in you. Now have some in yourself. The difference will be remarkable.”  
It stings to hear about Moriarty’s…personal life. Living with Sebastian. Being his. Being boss and lover.  
/Why/?  
Mycroft is aching, he supposes. Only just last week his brother plunged from the rooftop of Saint Bartholomew’s and ‘died’. Tentative blue eyes rise to Sebastian’s features.  
“I’m sure you’ll clean the flat up. Rather engaging, cleaning it. It would heal a lethargic mindset.”

“One job, I think.” he said, absently staring into his tea. He looked into it a long while, contemplatively. “One job and I think I should be back on track, I hope. You’re…” he paused, pursing his lips a bit as he thought of just what to say. He wanted to say that the man was treating him better than Moriarty ever did, and it would be at least mostly true. He wanted to say that no one had ever had so much faith in him, but that one was….far less true. While he searched for what exactly he wanted to say, he took another sip from his tea, brows furrowed in thought. “You’re not what I expected.” he said after setting his mug down, staring into it again, almost…worried to look up at the other man as he said the next thing. “James always said that…you were untouchable. I had this picture of you in my mind, then…as being far above everyone else, and I’m still quite sure that you are, at least in intelligence. I’ve heard said—mostly in jest, and teasing—that you’re the ‘Smart Holmes’.” he takes another pause, this time daring to look up at Mycroft. “I pictured you as a cruel man. Harsh, and cold and unfeeling. I know now, that I was completely off the mark, and I’d like to apologize for ever thinking something so terrible of you.” he admitted, jaw clenching when he was finished, clearly used to being yelled at—or worse—for such outbursts or admittances.

He /should/ feel bruised, wounded. In so many ways, the ‘cold, harsh, and unfeeling’ façade that he shows his enemies, family, and colleagues is somewhat true. He’s prone to being that way. Due to his experiences, his line of work, and all that he’s gone through.  
But that’s not entirely true. There’s another side to Mycroft — a more /human/ side to him.  
Sebastian was seeing that side of him. Because, this assassin, was a broken man who needed a purpose. And Mycroft found himself /wanting/ to help. It was a feeling he was terribly unused to. It left him fearful, worried. His eyes roam Sebastian’s table before rising to meet the man’s gaze.  
“Apology most heartily accepted,” he merely replies. “Although—“  
He pauses, chuckling.  
“I rather hope this stays between us.”  
/Between us/. He swallows thickly at that, startled as the bell rings.  
“Takeaway’s arrived,” he says, pushing away his chair and retreating from the room to pay the delivery man — and to have a moment alone, all to himself.

The sniper blinked and watched after the other man’s retreating form, his brow furrowing slightly. That was weird, right? What just happened there…? He rolled his neck until he heard and felt the satisfying crack, trying not to think about it, in case he started overthinking again, which evidently he was prone to doing. He pushed himself out of his chair and padded into the kitchen, searching the cabinet for some plates and utensils. Once he’d found what he was looking for, he brought them to the coffee table and set them down, plopping himself back into his seat and taking another sip of his tea. “I got next one!” he called, smiling to himself. If there even was a next time, but he hoped that there was a next time.

He returns with a bag of food containers. Setting it down upon the kitchen table, he takes a moment to set his phone on silent and then he joins Sebastian, who’s already set out some plates and cutlery. Thankfully.  
“Eat,” he insists, knowing that Sebastian will be needing all of his energy for tomorrow’s assignment — as high as the stakes are.  
He fixes himself a plate — much to his own surprise — and begins to eat. He is hungry tonight, after all.  
When was the last time he shared a meal with another?  
He couldn’t recall. Sadly enough.

The sniper hesitated a moment, wanting to make a smart arse remark about barking orders or some such but he decided to bite his tongue, not yet sure how the other man would respond to…his typical antics. He made himself up a plate and sat down, his stomach growling. “Fucking hell, this smells good…” he muttered to himself as he started eating. He wasn’t sure if the food was just that damned good, or if he had just been extremely hungry, but he finished his plate rather quickly and made himself up a second. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes…” he hummed, smiling across at him. “I appreciate what you’re doing…” he added. He felt completely calm, completely relaxed, and completely ready for what he had to do tomorrow. No jitters, no shakes, no panic. He could do this, because this man believed in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pieces of Sebastian's past are revealed in this one~  
> I promise, his backstory will be written up, in full, in the relatively near-ish future  
> For now, enjoy the glimpses!


	5. After Everything, It's Still You

It’s so…normal, this. Having dinner with this man, sharing a few cuppas.  
He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to spend time with another. As idiotic as that most likely sounds, at least to himself.  
If nothing else, he’s just glad to see the man eat. He /needs/ a warm meal, and some decent rest, and he’ll feel infinitely better in the morning. Mycroft trusts that.  
He’ll get the job done.  
He seems like a completely new human being. He’s calm, relaxed, and content. That much, at least — Mycroft is certain of.  
“Tomorrow, you and I will meet at a rendezvous point. In the afternoon. I’ll text you the address tomorrow, most likely beforehand.”

Sebastian glanced up from eating and blinked. “You want me to meet up with you before the job?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. There was so much different about Mycroft than—He wasn’t just sending him coordinates and telling him to get the job done. He was…eating dinner with him and making sure he was mentally stable enough to do the job. He was planning to meet him beforehand. “Sorry, I just…I’m not used to—…there’s a lot that I have to get used to, that’s different now.” he said, setting his plate to the side. “What will the rendezvous point be for?” he asked, scratching his chin absently.

Mycroft’s gaze floats over to Sebastian, briefly lingering on the man’s scruffy features.  
“Should anything change, it’ll be far easier to alert you.”  
He was used to being a handler of sorts. For his agents. This, he was good at. He was skilled under pressure. One could even venture to say he worked best that way.  
He pushed away an empty plate, satisfied, his mind wandering.  
These were odd circumstances. He never thought, for a moment, that he’d wind up like this — getting personal with anyone who worked for him.

The sniper froze and a bit of earlier’s panic started to set into his eyes. “You think something will change last minute?” he asked, the nerves clear in his voice as he asked the question. He didn’t have the conscious thought to kick himself for sounding that way, his mind was too busy trailing back down into the realm of panic and unease. He glanced quickly at the papers on the ground, his mind racing.   
_What if it storms? What if the wind is blowing too strongly in the wrong direction? What if he climbs in through a window instead of using a proper entranceway? What if the bomb is set off by his shot? What if more than just the bomber die? Would Mycroft toss him away if he failed? What if Mycroft were one of the ones hurt should the bomb go off?_  
He sat there in his chair, his eyes blank, his breathing shallow and his heart and mind racing again.

Something comes over Mycroft then. He can’t explain it. All he knows is Sebastian is headed down a path that won’t end well for him. For anyone.  
“Sebastian—“  
He tilts his head, eyes on the assassin.   
“Look at me, Sebastian. Don’t look at anything but me. Don’t think about anything. Just look at me.”  
A gentle way to coax him back to the here-and-now.  
His jaw is set, expression laced with worry.  
“You need to understand that there is /nothing/ you can’t do. You were a soldier. You still /are/.  
You are the second most dangerous man in this country. I won’t watch you crumble to pieces. Look at me for a moment, would you?”  
He reached out, a hand lifting the man’s chin to bring his gaze to his own.  
It’s…oddly gentle for him. But forceful. Stern.

Just beyond the noise that is his mind at that moment, Sebastian hears Mycroft’s voice and he pulls himself back slowly, his eyes focusing a bit more and he focused on Mycroft’s face, his voice. The way he…looked almost…worried? About him? He focused on his words. He /is/ a soldier. He’s been through worse, right? This was nothing. This was just a job. Just a job. He had to keep thinking that and not let that get out of hand. Just a job. There’s Mycroft’s voice again and—The sniper blinks, feeling a warmth blossom in his cheeks. His chin was lifted and he was looking right into Mycroft’s face forcing his eyes to focus on the other man. He didn’t speak, didn’t trust his voice, didn’t want to think about what he would say. Probably just a weak ‘I’m sorry’, but what was he sorry for? It wasn’t like he could—He forced himself to quiet his thoughts, taking a slow breath. He had to focus on Mycroft. Just Mycroft. Nothing else.

He lingers there, in front of Sebastian and holding his chin.  
“You are skilled,” he says quietly. “You are deadly. You won’t fail tomorrow.”  
He exhales, his expression even and practically unreadable. But oh, his thoughts—his thoughts are a livewire. Erratic and wild and dangerous.  
He draws away slowly, then continues.  
“Everything is going to be alright. You’re a trained assassin, lest you forget that important detail.”  
He stops for a moment. “If you wanted it…you could have already killed me. What does that say about you?”

Sebastian swallowed heavily, his breathing and heart rate calming again. Two panics like that in one day…honestly he was slipping. Of course, Mycroft had said he had every right to be slipping. He did just lose someone he cared about, after all. But all of Mycroft’s encouraging. He was right. He was a soldier. He was an assassin. One of the fucking best, too. “It says that I can do anything I put my damn mind to, sir.” He said, his voice relatively calm and stable, a bit of strength behind it. “I’m…sorry.” he added sheepishly. “It won’t always be like this, I assure you.” He added, sighing. It had been this way for a short period of time back when he was first hired for Jim, as well; though back then he had been made to suffer in silence. Back then, Jim didn’t do well with…/feelings/ of any kind. He pushed the thoughts of the small Irishman from his mind, re-focusing on Mycroft. “That guy won’t know what hit him, tomorrow.” He said confidently, nodding his head firmly and grinning best he could at Mycroft.

Mycroft washes his dish and cutlery — if only to be polite — before turning his attention back to Sebastian.  
“You should always be so confident. Always.”  
He’s a deadly assassin. An amazing sniper. He should never doubt that.  
With a sigh, Mycroft check his phone for the first time in about an hour. He’s got a few missed calls, some texts. None of which were as important as Sebastian, at the time.  
“I shall text you in the morning. With the phone I gave you when we last saw one another. Expect an early text with a location and a time. Nothing more.”  
He gathers up his things and slips into his warm overcoat.  
“I am sorry that I must leave. I have a few things to take care of before tomorrow.”

Sebastian furrowed his brow and nodded. “Be safe out there, Mr. Holmes.” He called after him, watching him get ready and leave. When the flat was empty again, apart from himself, it was like a cold set over everything again, but this time, he wasn’t going to let it get to him. He had to be strong, had to keep himself pulled tougher so that he could get some proper rest and be ready for what he had to do the next day. He placed his dishes in the sink, mentally telling himself that he’d do them when he came home after the job tomorrow. Taking one last glance around the flat, he grumbled something in a foreign language to himself and padded to the bathroom. He stripped down, looking at his scarred body in the mirror for a moment before stepping into the shower, letting the warm water roll over his body. He sat down under the spray and let himself cry for a while, something he hadn’t allowed himself to do in a long time. He rocked in the tub, hugging his knees to his chest. When the feeling had passed and he had run out of tears to shed, he pushed himself up, showered properly and got out. The bathroom was filled with steam by then, the mirror fogged over. He wiped the mirror to look at himself again and smiled softly. “Still me.” He muttered before drying off and padding to his room. He pulled on a plaid pair of pajama pants and slipped under his blankets on the bed. He fell asleep quickly, and stayed asleep until his phone went off in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter name is a reference to Undertale, for anyone that is also a part of that fandom.  
> I throw in references to things I like while writing Sebastian, oops


	6. Taking Care of Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I'll be taking care of business (every day)  
> Taking care of business (every way)  
> I've been taking care of business (it's all mine)"

In the morning, he rouses early, to shower and text Sebastian.  
[The Coffee Grinder Café. 9:30. MH]  
He dresses, readying himself for the long day ahead.  
He had every bit of faith in Sebastian Moran. Of course he did.  
He wouldn’t have entrusted him with this task — an assignment so important — if he didn’t.  
No bore not even /one/ doubt. Surely the man understood that.  
This would get Mycroft into trouble one day, making such reckless decisions, but for now it just so happens to be what makes him such a good handler for the government.

Sebastian rolled over and grabbed his phone, opening the message. He grumbled something foreign and looked at the time and pushed himself up and out of bed. He quickly got dressed and grabbed his rifle bag, shooting Myc a text before shoving his phone in his jacket pocket.  
[See you shortly. –SM]  
He locked up the flat behind him and hailed a cab, heading to the café. He got out and paid, stepping into the café and looking around. He pulled his phone out again.  
[Where are you? –SM]  
He looked at the time and frowned, realizing he was quite a bit early. He hadn’t realized that he had been moving so quickly. He was anxious, but it was a different brand of anxious than he had been the night before. He was excited about the job, excited to prove himself, excited to get back in the game, playing for a new team.

He leaves his home, then has his driver drops him off at the café and go round the block to park and stay low.  
As he reaches for the door latch, his phone buzzes.  
Through the glass window, he can see a rather distressed-looking assassin gazing downwards at his cell phone.  
He smiles — unable to help himself.  
Inside he goes, wandering over to the man.  
“Seb,” he says, catching the man’s attention rather quickly. The nickname fell from his lips so easily. It almost worries him.  
He’s too involved. But it’s too late for any of that.  
“Good morning.”

Sebastian turned when he heard the nickname, ready to punch someone, but froze when he saw it was Mycroft and blinked, a small smile touching his lips. “Good morning Mr. Holmes. Good day to save the government, don’t you think?” He said, chuckling lightly. He shoved his phone in his pocket and adjusted his rifle bag on his shoulder. “Did you sleep any last night?” He asked, looking around them, always a bit on edge when he was out in public.

His eyebrows rise at the question. it’s so terribly personal. Yet, to Sebastian, it’s mere conversation. Small talk. He walked over, saying, “I slept alright. And you?”  
He’s genuinely concerned. And it’s that concern that washes over him like a cold wave of ocean water. He /cares/.  
Where in the hell did that come from?  
He blinks, then orders them two coffees, paying before Sebastian can even protest the matter.  
“Everything is going according to plan. Nothing has changed,” he says quietly, softly enough for Sebastian’s ears and no one else’s.

Sebastian shrugged and followed after Mycroft, furrowing his brow when the other man paid for the coffee. “Thank you.” He murmured. “And…I actually slept decently. Didn’t wake up until your text pulled me from sleep.” He said, humming a bit. He was more than relieved that nothing had changed and everything was going smoothly. He could breathe easily and remain excited for what he had to look forward to. “Are you going to this meeting? I don’t think I ever actually asked. I really only assumed that you’d be there…” He murmured, keeping his voice low and taking a sip from his coffee. “I…also didn’t ask…am I meeting you after?”

He breathes deeply before responding to Sebastian.  
“I will be there. Unfortunately.”  
No pressure. Surely that just upped the ante. If he failed, his handler would die. But Mycroft /trusted/ this man. Beyond all sense, whatever for, he trusted him.  
Tentative blue eyes find Sebastian again as he sips at a hot coffee.  
“I suppose I hadn’t thought about /afterward/. Whatever you need. If you’d like to see me after.”  
He’s being too…personal. It’s obvious. And when their eyes meet, he’s sure he’s giving it away. He can’t help himself.

Sebastian glanced up from his coffee, actually rather surprised to hear that as the response, even more surprised to meet Mycroft’s eyes. He sees something there, in his eyes, but he couldn’t quite place what it was, so he smiled gently and nodded. “All goes well, I’d like to see you afterward. But…won’t you be in that meeting a while?” he asked, chuckling lightly. “And I know I’m certainly not ah…invited to such a thing. You as my handler or not, I’m sure there are certain things that even you can’t get to pass.” he hummed, setting his cup down. “But I’ll message you once it’s done, of course. And…from there you can let me know if there’s anything else you need?” he asked, extremely unused to not every moment of his life being planned out, especially while on a job. It was…freeing, but also rather…strange. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it at all. Just as he still wasn’t quite sure how to feel about his new situation. He…he actually /liked/ Mycroft Holmes, strange as that was. He realized then, that he had been staring and he quickly averted his gaze, staring down into his coffee. “Thank you, by the way, Mr. Holmes. For the…well, basically the pep talk. I…shouldn’t have needed that, but I did.”

“Sometimes, we all do,” he merely says.  
He shrugs a broad shoulder after, before continuing — but quietly.  
“I will text you the moment I am out of the meeting. I’m a Holmes. Excuses are my forte. I’ll see you sometime in the afternoon.”  
It’s a promise.  
Mycroft Holmes doesn’t do promises, but for this man he’s making an exception. It’s very telling, isn’t it?  
“I suggest we leave this place. I have business to attend to before this meeting of epic proportions. I need to see the Prime Minister.”  
/Unfortunately/. He isn’t very happy.  
“You should go prepare yourself. Set up. The wind shouldn’t be a factor today. And there’s hardly a cloud in the sky. The weather’s on our side today. What an oddity.”

Sebastian can’t help the pink that touches his cheeks for a moment. He swore that Mycroft Holmes just made him a promise. A promise that they’d see each other. A promise that he’d make an excuse to get out of an important meeting for important people of London…to see him. He quickly pulled himself off that train of thought, for fear that he would be too focused on what that /MEANT/ to do the job he was set out to do. He nearly missed Mycroft’s next words, but caught them in time “I’ll send you a text when I’m set up and ready, not that it’ll mean a thing to you one way or another, but…you’ll at least know, I suppose.” he chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Good luck, Mr. Holmes…” he said, his voice softer. He finished up his coffee and stood up, adjusting his bag on his back. “See you on the other side.” he added, throwing the man one of his famous sharky grins before heading out of the café.   
He pressed himself into the shadows, blending in and moving with the small crowds that were bustling about at this hour, making his way toward the building he had mapped himself out in for the past month. Once there, he checked around himself carefully before jumping up and pulling the fire escape ladder down, making quick work of climbing up to the rooftop. He took in a deep breath through his nose once up there, closing his eyes for a moment, centering himself. “Just like old times…” he breathed out, opening his eyes again, that grin back on his face. He made his way to the side of the roof where he would have the best vantage point over the building he was going to be…well, protecting. He set his bag down on the ground and set everything up, looking through just his scope piece before attaching it to his rifle.  
[Ready whenever he is. –SM]

Mycroft sees that text before he’s wandering inside to meet with the Prime Minister for a moment. They’ve a bit of business to take care of beforehand.  
Truth be told, he’s a bit nervous. Not because he doesn’t trust Sebastian Moran, ironically enough. But because of what’s at stake in this meeting.  
If something should go wrong, if the bomber should do something completely unexpected, he might not be occupying this earth tomorrow morning.  
It’s a rather sobering, terrifying thought.  
And besides…He has a promise to keep. That he’ll be seeing Sebastian later on in the evening. That’s motivation enough for him today.  
Everything will turn out alright. It has to.

Through his scope, he could see the familiar figure of his handler going into the building. He took a deep breath, centering himself again. Everything had to go the right way, now. Mycroft Holmes was in that building. This wasn’t about protecting London’s elite, this was about protecting /him/, which made the task all the more personal. He swallowed heavily and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, putting one to his lips. He grabbed his light and cupped the end of the cigarette to light it, taking a deep drag in. “This is it boys…” he murmured around the cigarette betwixt his lips, letting smoke filter out from his nose. “Bring it on.” he added, putting his game face on. He peered through the scope, his cigarette falling from his lips when he spotted the target. Bastard was coming in with a group of other people, trying to blend himself in. The sniper narrowed his eyes, not bothering with the lost cigarette, he’d have himself another when that man’s blood was spilled. He clenched his jaw, positioning himself carefully. He took a deep breath, getting his target in sigh, lining up the shot. Letting out the breath, he squeezed the trigger. Everything seemed to move in slow motion then, as the bullet whizzed through the air, the sound would surely reach the ears below too late, and he was right. Through his scope, he watched the man fall, dead. The people around him were splattered with his blood, but they’d deal with it; it was better than being splattered on the walls themselves. Watching the people scatter for a moment, the sniper sat back, running a hand over his face, letting himself breathe. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears, it wasn’t racing, it was just pounding. He grabbed his phone, his hands completely still, completely relaxed.  
[London can rest safely for another day. Hope the meeting goes well. See you after. –SM]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My idea of help from above...  
> is a trusty sniper on the roof~


	7. At The Core, You're Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no such thing as good, or evil.  
> There is only choice.

He’d heard the commotion outside, but it was the text from Sebastian that put his mind at ease.  
To say that he’d been uneasy would be the understatement of the century.  
He was all nerves.  
[Good work, Sebastian. MH]  
He rather likes using the man’s first name. It flowed easier. And, if he were being honest, it was more personal. With Sebastian, he prefers ‘personal’.  
All goes according to plan, aside from the unimportant death of one man before proceedings, he’s glad at that fact. No one needs to know /why/ the man was taken out. Panic would ensue.  
And later on in the evening, after he’s out of the office and heading ‘home’, he decides to take a detour and find his way to Sebastian’s. As per usual, he texts the man whilst waiting outside of the front door.  
[It’s cold out on the stoop. Care to open the door? MH]

After receiving and reading the response text from Mycroft, Sebastian grinned to himself and made quick work of packing up his rifle away into its bag. He lit another cigarette and stood on the roof for a few moments to let himself enjoy his smoke and then he stomped it out with his worn out boots and scaled down the building via the fire escape. He easily blended into the crowd of people, sticking once again to the shadows as he made his way back to his empty flat. Once inside, he kicked his boots off at the door and rested his rifle bag against the wall. He stretched, feeling the wonderful cracking sounds of his bones releasing the built up gases. He rolled his neck until he felt another satisfying crack there. He was back, baby. The Tiger Sniper was back in action and ready to play.  
But, for the time being, he’d settle with going and washing his dishes from earlier. He hummed to himself as he did some cleaning around the flat, getting things back into a more organized state. When he felt his phone buzzing, he didn’t even bother opening the message, instead going straight for the door and pulling it open, greeting the man on the other side with a sharky grin. “How’d it go on the inside?” he asked, moving out of the way to let the man inside.

Mycroft is practically shivering from the cold. He comes inside, shaking off the rain from his coat in the doorway and answering Sebastian.  
“It went surprisingly well. At least there was no bloodshed between parties.”  
There was a tiny blessing.  
He sheds his coat, feeling comfortable enough to do so, and steps out of the foyer. The flat’s clean, cozy. It even smells lovely. Like apples and cinnamon. Febreze Air Freshener, no doubt.  
“You’ve been cleaning,” he says softly, taking note of every little different in the flat.  
In some ways, however, it does cause him ache to be here. James Moriarty /lived/ in this flat. But, it was /Sebastian’s/ place of residence now. That’s what he chose, instead, to concentrate on.  
“You did good today,” he tells the man, honest and sincere.

Sebastian closed the door once the other man had stepped inside and he watched the man look around, unable to help the grin that tugged at his lips as he looked around as well. He’d done quite a bit to get the flat back into a proper state.  
“Yeah…I uh…remember you saying something about cleaning being almost therapeutic, or something along those lines. So I wanted to get things cleaned up. I put away things that…I didn’t want to look at anymore, too.” he said, glancing over at Mycroft then. “It’s because of you, you know.” he murmured, before realizing how that sounded. His cheeks flushed very slightly and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah…I mean the ‘good job today’. …and also the cleaning.” he clarified, chuckling lightly. “Want me to put the kettle on? Your lips are almost blue.” Again, he realized how that sounded, and his cheeks are now a light pink in color. It wasn’t like he had been…looking or anything. Right? He shook his head and padded across to the kitchen, putting the kettle on without waiting for the other man’s answer, mostly just so he could do something to hide the embarrassment that was evident in his cheeks.

Mycroft’s eyebrows dart higher at what Sebastian says. But, more so at the faint blush that taints the man’s cheeks a fair, pretty pink and sends the man’s gaze cutting away and averting from him. He bustles off to the kitchen, too, in order to put the kettle on.  
With a soft chuckle, he follows him, tucking his phone into his trouser pocket on the way.  
“I told you that you were the best this country has to offer,” he starts to say. “You should have believed me. I wouldn’t have pursued you if I hadn’t had the utmost faith in your abilities. And a profound envy.”  
It occurs to him, then, why it was that this assignment had been so important to Sebastian — perhaps because Mycroft had been in the building. His own life was in danger.  
“You have no need to thank me,” he adds. “Everything you did, you did because you are skilled. You didn’t lose your touch.”

Having not expected the man to follow him to the kitchen, Sebastian nearly dropped the kettle, but quickly recovered, only spilling a bit of water. One of the things the man said stood out from the others and after setting the kettle on, he turned, his brow furrowing a bit. “…you envy my abilities?” he asked curiously, more than a little surprised by this revelation. It hadn’t occurred to him in the slightest that Mycroft would be interested in the ways of guns and other physical weapons. He always figured the man was much more aligned to that his pure intellect was weapon enough. “You’re still quite a mystery, Mr. Holmes. “ he said, chuckling lightly to himself. “If you’re interested in learning, I wouldn’t mind teaching you a thing here and there. ‘Course, wouldn’t want to teach you all my secrets. Wouldn’t do to give away the very thing that makes me important to you.” He paused, blinking. “Not that I’m…I mean my…my skills. My…abilities, as you put it. That’s…not me.” he stammered, flustered that he had called himself…important to Mycroft Holmes. He wasn’t sure /what/ he was, yet, to this man. Save for that he was a weapon to be used only when his handler deemed him worthy and needed for a job.

Sebastian’s nervous. Extremely nervous. Whatever for?  
Mycroft doesn’t quite understand. But, in a way, it makes him feel powerful, regardless.  
“No, I meant /you/. You are more than just your abilities. You are one of a kind. You are…The Tiger. Not one of many, no — just one. One, standing alone, in your own category.”  
He bends down to wipe up the water Sebastian had spilled earlier, just to be kind. Then he’s casting his gaze in the man’s direction. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s got you so…terribly shaky? You’re practically trembling.”  
He chuckles, his next words flying past his lips before he can stop them. He’s never had any control over his sass.  
“Do you find me intimidating? You’re the assassin, not I.”  
Although…  
“But, I may have a few tricks up my sleeve.”  
Like the sword in his umbrella, for instance.  
Had Sebastian really offered to…/teach/ him how to perfect being a better shot?  
He may yet, some day, take him up on that offer.

The sniper froze a moment, trying to think of a good answer as to why he was practically trembling, but seeing as he didn’t even have an answer to give himself, he certainly didn’t have a suitable answer to give to Mycroft. He furrowed his brow and turned. “I…I don’t actually know. I mean, of course I find you intimidating, at least a little.” he shrugged, smirking lightly. “And you of all people should know that my being an assassin has nothing to do with whether you’d be considered intimidating or not.” he added, rubbing at the still fading marks of the handcuffs on his wrists. “Worst I can do is shoot you or someone you care about. You…” he shook his head, turning back to the kettle and putting together the tea, remembering the way Mycroft took his from the previous day. “You can tear people’s lives apart piece by piece and could expose every sore spot, every crack, every black mark…” he bit the inside of his cheek, chewing it thoughtfully. “You’re far more dangerous than I could ever dream to be, but you hide even further back in the shadows than I do. I’m the tiger sniper, the second most dangerous man in all of London. And you…you’re the Iceman. You have London by the short hairs and London isn’t even the wiser.”

Strangely fascinating, it is — listening to this man talk.  
Mycroft wanders over, eyes searching Sebastian’s for something, /anything/.  
“You don’t mean to say that /I/ intimidate you, even after…last night?”  
He touched the man’s face, for God’s sake. Just to keep him from having a full-on panic attack.  
“I am not prone to tenderness, and yet I cannot stop myself from giving it to you.”  
Oh, god. Had he really said that aloud?  
His brow furrows, hands slipping into his trouser pockets.  
Awkwardly, he coughs, and then says, “I just know what you /can/ be. I see something wholly remarkable in you. You may not even see it yourself, but I know it’s there.  
You’re in the gray area. Neither good, nor bad. Much like myself. But my intentions are always /good/. As yours should be, Seb. You’re /good/.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'You have London by the short hair and London isn't even the wiser'
> 
> Can I just say that I love that line? That's egotistical of me, because I wrote that line, but I love that line.
> 
> Okay enough of that! More chapters tomorrow! Sorry for the cliffhanger~


	8. Don't Stop Believing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to bring you the next chapter.  
> Compiling the chapters and naming them has been a toll since I've found myself to be under the weather.  
> Things should pick up again soon :D  
> Thanks for being so patient!
> 
> Also, if you don't speak different languages....well, you might have to do some translations in this chapter! oops...

His breathing stopped and his heart skipped in his chest. He’d touched his face, even if only momentarily, and then practically told the sniper that he had a soft spot for him, in more or less words. And even still, the man intimidated him, but he dared not say that out loud, because then it would be all the more true. Mycroft Holmes, of all the fucking people in the world…believed in /him/. Was tender with /him/. Had just fucking /touched/ his /face/ so gently… “I’m not, though…” he said, his voice so soft, it could barely be heard. And he believed it. He had killed SO many people at this point, taken so many lives. And not even all of them /deserved/ it. Sure, a good portion of them he could explain away, and give some sort of excuse as to how they /might/ have deserved what they got. But the deaths that haunted him the most were his men. Those would always be the most haunting to him, the ones that would keep him up at night. The ones that would have him constantly panicking when the storms would come. “I don’t know what all you know of me, Mr. Holmes, because I don’t know what is written or documented where and what you have the power to access…” he shook his head, his thoughts racing. “Es fühlt sich manchmal an, als ob ich ertrinke, und ich weiß nicht, ob ich gerettet werden möchte."

“Warum gerettet werden?”  
His response is soft-spoken, low. Husky.  
With a quiet sigh, he merely says, “You’d be surprised how much I know. You really would be.”  
He stands there for a moment, not minding the close proximity. Normally, it makes him so uncomfortable. But not now. Not this time.  
“The truth of the matter is that you aren’t too far gone.”  
Calculable, the answer. Clinical.  
His gaze casually drops to give the man a once-over whilst he loses himself to his thoughts, not exactly aware that he’s doing it so noticeably.  
“You still have a heart, Sebastian. Learn to forgive yourself.”  
He’ll know what Mycroft means. He’s referring to his men. To war. To all of it.

At his words, those words…Sebastian closed his eyes, clenching his right hand into a fist. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. He’d never thought about forgiving himself, never thought about letting it fade, because he didn’t believe that he had that right. Moriarty, for all his talents, and all his beautifully spun tales, either never knew of the turmoil inside the sniper, or didn’t know how to fix it. …perhaps he didn’t care.  
But in comes Mycroft Holmes—the man known to people in Sebastian’s line of work as the Iceman, for his cold demeanor and his harsh tactics—and he makes it all melt away with just those words. Ironic, actually.  
“…Go raibh maith agat as féachaint ar cad is féidir aon duine eile a fheiceáil." His voice was soft again as he slipped into yet another one of the languages he knew. It was his favorite. He wasn’t even sure if the other man knew it, but it seemed that Mycroft Holmes was full of surprises.

For a fleeting moment, a soft smile appears.  
Irish. How interesting.  
Mycroft is at a loss for what to do, how to respond. He isn’t accustomed to this.  
“I’ve trained myself to see what others can’t,” he says quietly, eyes lingering on the assassin’s features — on his raw expression and the tear that falls down a cheek.  
“Sebastian—“  
He isn’t brave enough to reach out for the man. No, not in the least.  
“The only way to heal is to forgive yourself and move on from your past. You’re already halfway there.”  
His gaze is glued to the man’s countenance. He sees everything. Every emotion, nearly every thought. It’s etched into the man’s features.  
“A great man once wrote, ‘Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before’  
You needn’t….hate yourself so. you’re a different man today.”  
His brows furrow as he watches Sebastian.  
Worry. Concern. Affection. It’s all in his eyes.

“…’—more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.’” he finished softly, a smile touching his lips then. “Dickens, Mr. Holmes?” he asked, opening his eyes and stubbornly wiping at the tear that ran down his cheek. He met Mycroft’s gaze, and he swore he could see something soft there, softer than he’d seen in anyone’s eyes in a long, long time. “I’ll always hate myself in some capacity, Mr. Holmes. But…if we’re throwing quotes about, I’ll give you one of my personal favorites: ‘Don’t forget that I cannot see myself. That my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror.’ Do you know who said that, Mr. Holmes?” he asked, quite curious if he knew, though he was positive he might. “My mirror has been…it’s been dusty, it’s been broken and harsh and cruel. Therefore, that is how I see myself. While I may get a new mirror, the images from the old mirror will always remain in my mind as parts of myself that I will never truly get rid of.” He turned, then, grabbing the cups of tea, offering the one forward that he knew was Mycroft’s.

Mycroft is smiling — gently — before he can even help himself.  
“Jacques Rigaut—“  
Color him impressed. Surely it shows.  
He takes his tea cup and saucer, thankful for the need to use his hands for something.  
He hums at the warmth before casting his gaze back over at the assassin.  
“Well…’There’s no reason to live, but there’s no reason to die, either. The only way we can still show our contempt for life is to accept it.’  
A favorite of mine. Read often, do you?”  
Not to say that he hadn’t thought Sebastian was intelligent. He knew that much. He’s curious now. Oh so curious. Conversation such as this is so stimulating to a bright, clever mind.

“’Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.’” Sebastian smiled as his anxiety and worry melted away, replaced by the curiosity to know more, to see how far he could push the other man, and to see how much he could impress him. Because he was that, currently. At least that’s how it showed. “Didn’t expect me to be an avid reader, Mr. Holmes?” He asked, chuckling lightly. “My da and elder brother worked with some form of the government. Never really learned about their work, since it was all hush hush back then. But we traveled often. Moved around a lot. It’s why I’m varied in my languages.” he hummed, gesturing for Mycroft to follow him into the sitting room. “My da, when he would go on his solo trips, would often times bring me home new books.” he added, before sitting down in his chair. He blew softly on his tea before taking a sip. “How far back into my past have you gone, in doing your research on me?” he asked curiously.

“Enough to already have known what you just divulged to me,” he merely says, cracking a smile for the assassin.  
“Still, I am impressed, nonetheless.”  
He has himself a seat, eyes on Sebastian.  
This is so much more than business.  
This is pleasure. The two are entwined now. Hopelessly.  
There’s longing in his eyes as he glimpses Sebastian’s way. He can no longer keep it at bay.  
“I’ve got the right man,” he says. “The right sniper. You’re a good man to have on our side. You won’t ever be…unneeded. Or tossed aside.”  
He pauses.  
“I’ll see to it personally.”  
He wants to say more, but he’s unable to.

Sebastian paused with his cup most of the way to his mouth, and he has to catch himself before he drops the scalding liquid into his lap. He simply blinked, sitting there rather dumbfounded. Mycroft had complimented him before, when they had first met, and he thought that that would be the highest caliber compliment he’d ever receive but this…And that look in his eyes as he says it.  
“Mr. Holmes…” he murmured, his voice soft. He was at a loss for words, had no idea what to even say to something like this. He had outwardly admitted he was impressed, and pressed on and basically said he was the perfect man for this position and he’d always have this spot. In more or less words. “I….I don’t know…I don’t know what to say…” he paused, running through quotes in his head. He knew he had something in there somewhere. ‘I feel a very unusual sensation — if it is not indigestion, it must be gratitude,’ came to mind, but he pushed that one aside, it was far too…silly. Finally, “…’Some people grumble that roses have thorns; I am grateful that thorns have roses.’ …What I mean is…thank you for seeing past…that I have bad things with me, and in my past. You….see the bad things and see the good that can come from it and I…Thank you. For believing in me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously love this sharing of wits between Mycroft and Sebastian.  
> Most people assume that Seb is just the man behind the scope, but he's a lot more than that. He's just as smart as his boss, he just pretends to be normal, because it's not his job to stand out. It's his job to be normal, his job to be the man behind the scope. So he takes on that role.


	9. Tangled Up in You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah...some of these chapter names have been song titles.  
> I'M NOT SORRY, I LIKE MY MUSIC.

The sincerity in Sebastian’s voice catches Mycroft off-guard. He hadn’t been expecting that, despite their very personal conversation since he’d arrived.  
He tilts his head, placing his cuppa aside and sitting back to make himself comfortable.  
“I choose to see the good and bad in you, but there’s more good, Sebastian. Believe me on that.”  
He’s only being honest.  
The Iceman /does/ occasionally find himself in the position where he must be sincere and truthful. Usually not when it comes to politics.  
He smiles — gently — whilst crossing his legs and saying, “You are a plethora of clever recitation and knowledge. I /am/ impressed.”  
Something occurs to him then.  
“We’re going to be having another one of those…meetings, much like we had today. Over the next week or so, we’ll be having two, in fact. Would you be averse to being my eyes in the sky? To make sure everything’s alright?”  
He chuckles, adding, “I would trust this to my men, but, of course…they all kill for a living, and I’m not entirely trusting of them. You, however…are a different story.”  
He does trust Sebastian. That much is obvious.

Confused for a moment, Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he looked up at Mycroft. “…but /I/ kill for a living.” he said, smirking lightly. “Even still, on the side of good, I still technically kill for a living. And also, I /am/ one of /your/ men.” he added, taking a sip from his tea, pondering the rest of what his handler was saying. “Technicalities aside…I’ll happily be your eyes in the sky. My idea of help from above is a sniper on the rooftops.” he said, winking at Mycroft, chuckling playfully.  
He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate, yet, to joke with the other man this way, but he couldn’t help himself. Their conversation thus far had been so much more personal, he felt comfortable in the other man’s presence. Felt comfortable being a little informal, a little like his normal, playful self. He worked for business men, didn’t necessarily mean he was always all business.

“Sebastian…” He chuckles, eyes alight with something akin to pleasure and amusement. “Do you really think you’re the only one in this room…that isn’t, by any means, an angel?” Sebastian must think so highly of him, But oh, he’s done such wrong in the world. Such good, as well, yes. But such wrong to combat it. His expression softens, gaze lingering on Sebastian’s features. “Are you seeing anyone?” The words fly past his lips before he can even stop them. “Since…James, I mean?” He isn’t a fool. He knows they were involved — romantically. “I’m…asking because I care. Personally. I’m worried for your well-being.” /Sodding hell/. What a load of bullshit. He’s jealous. He wants to see how Sebastian is feeling. The mere /thought/ of him with another man, a woman, makes Mycroft’s blood boil.

The question has the sniper fumbling for an answer, surprised at the question in the first place. Is he seeing anyone? How could he have been, it hadn’t been very long since—and he’d been cooped up in his flat planning for the events of today. He swallowed heavily, wondering what this might be about. He took a moment to think, before deciding he’d keep on with his usual playfulness. “Well, I’m seeing you, aren’t I?” he asked, a grin pulling at his lips. He didn’t know the implications of the question, and didn’t know what the implications of such an answer to said question would be, either.

There are so many things Mycroft would like to say in reply. So many things Mycroft would would like to say in reply. So many things that won’t quite leave his lips.  
“In a way,” he eventually says, voice lowered. He sets his cup of tea aside, nearly empty now, before rising to his feet.  
“But I find myself in the peculiar position of wishing there was more,” he says, shocked with himself but not entirely surprised that the words were uttered. One day they would have been. Eventually.  
“I should leave,” he stumbles to say, slipping into an overcoat and readying himself to leave, before Sebastian can even /realize/ what he’s just muttered to him.

The sniper paused, a look of confusion crossing his face. “Wait you…what?” He asked, his voice soft, incredulous. “Mr. Holmes, you…Wait!” He pushed himself up quickly, completely forgetting about his tea, dropping it. He didn’t even pay the shattered glass at his feet any mind before crossing the room, carefully grabbing the man’s wrist. “Mr. Holmes…Are you saying you want to see more of me?” He asked quietly. He couldn’t believe his own ears, couldn’t believe that Mycroft Holmes would…say such a thing to him.

Sebastian, much to Mycroft’s surprise, crosses the room and snags the man’s wrist to stop him from leaving.  
And it’s just as well — Mycroft never would have spoken about the matter again.  
“I don’t want to discuss this,” he simply says, voice lowered and dangerously so.  
He draws his wrist back slowly as Sebastian releases him, his fingers flexing around the umbrella.  
“I spoke without thinking, although it’s very rare for me, and I’m sorry.”

The sniper furrowed his brow slightly, searching the other man’s face momentarily. “Mr. Holmes…” he whispered, shaking his head and looking down. “You don’t have to apologize for speaking openly.” he said quietly, glancing back up at him, a small smile touching his lips. “Look if you…if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I understand. But…if you do, I want to hear it. I’ll listen.” he added, trying to be reassuring. He wasn’t sure what had happened, what was happening. Mycroft Holmes was showing…a sort of vulnerability and the sniper wasn’t sure where it was coming from. He understood though. “…’Vulnerability is not weakness. It’s the most accurate measurement of courage.’” he quoted, voice soft. He waited for the snap of angry words, or the sting of a hand across his face.

Only, there would come no harsh words, no sting of a hand across Sebastian’s face.  
Mycroft, for all his iciness, was a gentle human being. A tender one.  
The façade that he presented the world with was so drastically different than how he truly, honestly was.  
And the mask was beginning to slip. Sebastian knew that.  
He sighs, not exactly moving away from the assassin but not moving any closer, either.  
“Is it not terribly obvious? I’ve come to care for you,” he all but whispers. “And I hate myself for it. Moriarty /ruined/ my brother. Killed him.  
And here I am, standing in front of the man he loved, the man who loved him in return, in the best way he knew how, and I’m drawn to you. Like a moth to a flame.”  
He falls silent, jaw tightening as he gazes blankly at Sebastian. His eyes are bloodshot, burning with unshed tears. Not of sadness, but of frustration. Frustration with himself.  
“Please don’t say anything,” he utters quietly, a hand rising. “I loathe myself enough for it. Truly, I do.  
And I’m sorry all this is coming out.”

Not that he even /could/ say anything at the moment, as it was. It was as if the world around him froze, and his heart had stopped for a moment. Mycroft…cared? About…him? The wheels in his head were turning, and there was a small Moriarty sounding voice in his head making things worse.  
He supposed he had caught glimpses of it, if he thought about it. The soft glances, the gentle way he had touched his face. The way he pulled him through his panic and trusted him so hopelessly.  
And suddenly, he felt terrible. Because he couldn’t return the sentiment, couldn’t return the feelings. Not to that level, anyway. Not yet. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about what to do, what to say. But honestly, what could he do? What could he say? Mycroft was right…all things considered, he should /hate/ Sebastian, not…not care about him. Sebastian’s heart still belong with a dead man, the fallen Devil, that much was painfully obvious, and he was sure the other man knew that. But…there was a softness for the man standing before him. How couldn’t there be?  
When the sniper was at his lowest point—put aside that Mycroft Holmes had been the one to /put/ him at that lowest point—this man had lifted him up. Had showed him that things could be okay again, eventually. That things /were/ okay. That life went on.  
What happened next, he couldn’t stop himself. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He reached out slowly, carefully, and cupped the man’s face, brushing his thumb beneath his sad eyes.  
“It takes a strong man both to cry, and not to cry; one has to be strong to hide such strong emotions, but one must also be strong to show such emotions. The man that can do both and decide when each strength is relevant, is the strongest kind of man there is.” he whispered, hoping that the man before him would understand what he meant by the words, and would understand what was behind them, as well. He cared—of course he fucking cared—and he would be there. They were entangled in this together, now, the two of them. One way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some touching and sweet moments between our lovely boys~  
> Mycroft basically opening himself to Sebastian...  
> How will this turn out for them?


	10. Unrequited Love

He flinches at Sebastian’s touch. He can’t help himself. The man’s a trained assassin and can snap Mycroft’ neck with such ease.  
At Sebastian’s words, he falls silent. Awestruck.  
“Tell me I’m a fool. Tell me to leave. Tell me that I’m your handler, Sebastian. Nothing more.”  
It’s a plea. A pathetic one, but still a beg.  
He finds himself leaning into the assassin’s touch, breaths shallow and eventually calming.  
“Tell me I’m imagining things, Seb.” he whispers.  
The Great Mycroft Holmes never imagines anything, though, does he?  
It’s a vulnerable thing, to admit one’s feelings. He isn’t used to this. Not in the least.  
There’s uncertainty. It’s unrequited. There’s pain. Ache.  
“I’m sorry that it had to be you.” he says, a finality in his tone.

He noticed the flinch, of course he did, and for a moment it stings. That Mycroft would think, for even a moment, that he would ever hurt him. He pushed that thought aside, and focused on the man’s words, a soft smile touching his face, reaching his eyes, as he searched the man’s face. “Mr. Holmes—“ he paused, thinking instead he’ll try to be more personal, as Mycroft was being. ‘Stop putting him at this distance….’ he thought to himself.  
“Mycroft…I could tell you these things that you’re asking of me. I /could/…” he took another pause to shake his head, brushing his thumb absently against the man’s cheek. “But I couldn’t lie to you. You’re no fool. And…I can’t tell you that you’re just my handler and nothing more, because I don’t know that that is true.” He let out a breath, his eyes searching the man’s face again. He looked so tired, so sad…there was an ache in Sebastian’s chest at those realizations. “And I doubt you ever just imagine things. That doesn’t seem to be your style.” he added.  
His thoughts raced and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what could stop the ache that was in himself, and mirrored in the other man, for two separated reasons. “You are an amazingly strong man, Mycroft Holmes. One of the strongest men that I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. And certainly the strongest man I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know for even this short time.” And it was the truth. To admit to these feelings, to be so open and raw, to be near tears. Mycroft Holmes truly was an amazingly strong man.

Mycroft aches somewhere deep inside of himself. Somewhere he’d forgot existed.  
He draws away with no small amount of reluctance. He needs to, otherwise he’ll crumble to pieces.  
“If we were wise, we would forget this every happened and move on. Professionally.”  
It hurts to speak the words aloud. It stings — and there’s no balm that could possibly soothe such a burn.  
“I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you tonight. If it helps, I’ve rather inconvenienced myself in all of this. And made a fool of myself as well.”  
He fixes his overcoat, tired eyes dropping to watch his fingers move.  
“I should leave. We’ll be in touch, I suppose. When another assignment comes along.”  
He pauses.  
“If you don’t want to…be my eyes in the sky for tomorrow’s meeting as well, I’d completely understand.”

Trained assassin or not, Sebastian felt something in him break when Mycroft pulled away from him, when he suggested that they forget this happened.  
_‘Stiff upper lip, Tiger. Can’t have you both falling to pieces, can we?’_ the Moriarty voice in his head purred.  
And for once, he listened to that fucking voice. Because it was right. There was no point in the both of them falling to bits over this. But that didn’t mean he was going to leave things as they were.  
“I won’t stop you, Mr. Holmes,” right back into that formality again that he can’t seem to help, “but please know that your feelings, this…talk. It could never be an inconvenience to me. I want you to understand that.” he said, his voice soft and gentle, worried that if he’s anything but, he might scare the other man away. He’s already practically out the door as it was.  
“Message me with the details for tomorrow, please. I’ll be there, and nothing will get past me.” he smiled, wanting nothing more than to step forward again, close the distance between them again. But he couldn’t. He had to wait, he had to be patient.  
He was good at that, though, wasn’t he? It was, after all, a major part of his job description. The fucking waiting. The patience. All the same, he wished things had gone more smoothly, that things hadn’t…turned out how they were turning out. He’d unintentionally hurt Mycroft, and he didn’t know how to take it back and make it better. “You can count on me.” was all he could manage, and there was a weight behind his words.

He stops for a moment, his hand on the doorknob.  
“What is unrequited is always an inconvenience. For both parties.”  
And then he’s gone, wandering away from that flat as fast as his feet will possibly carry him.  
He’s a fool. A complete and utter fool.  
Caring is not an advantage.  
Sebastian didn’t return the feelings he harbored. No — because Mycroft was a friend. That’s what he’d become. His handler and a /friend/. And Sebastian was far too busy grieving his lost lover. Moriarty was gone. Dead. Never to return.  
And Mycroft found himself wishing tonight had never happened.  
He wanted to take away Sebastian’s pain. To heal his heart. But that wasn’t his place.  
He heads home, showering and all but falling into bed. Tomorrow would be terrible. Long. Arduous.  
It couldn’t be over sooner.


	11. This Too Shall Pass

Sebastian watched the man leave, a coldness falling over him that he didn’t want to try explaining to himself. He knew he did the right thing; it wouldn’t do to lead the man on when he didn’t share in those feelings just yet. He still needed time. He was still…grieving. He hadn’t even given himself the time to grieve, really. He’d been too wrapped up in everything else going on.  
_‘Now, we both know that’s not true, Tiger.’_  
“Shut up, Jim, not now.” he muttered, padlocking his door and heading into the sitting room to clean up the glass and tea he’d left behind.  
_‘You can’t hold on to me forever, Tiger. You have to let go sometime.’_  
“I don’t have to let go, if I don’t want to. I just have to…I have to get over you.” he murmured, not even bothering to wonder why he still talked to that damned voice. He knew if anyone came in, or saw, or heard him, he’d be considered crazy. If Mycroft knew that Jim talked to him in his head… He shook that thought away, cutting himself on the broken glass. He hissed and put his finger to his mouth, tasting copper.  
_‘Now look what you’ve done. You’re not paying attention.’_  
“I don’t need you patronizing me in my head, Jim. Didn’t you do that enough while you were alive?” he grumbled around his finger. Besides, he had more pressing matters to think about.  
After cleaning up his mess and making sure everything was it its place—and after arguing with Jim in his head some more—Sebastian took a quick shower and climbed into bed.  
He grabbed his phone, hesitating before typing out a message.  
[Please don’t forget to send me the details. Good-night, Mycroft. –SM]

All business now, mostly due to his wounded ego, Mycroft texts Sebastian with an address the next morning.  
But nothing else. Not one word.  
He’s the man’s handler. Nothing more.  
His heart is aching, but he needs to remain professional about this. And he shall.  
He goes off to his meeting, pretending like nothing in the world is wrong. He even puts on a smile for the government officials he needs to speak with.  
Oh, it’s an amazing show.  
And hopefully Moran’s assignment goes well outside, up on a rooftop somewhere.

It’s the text tone that pulled him from a restless sleep and he sat up quickly, scrambling to grab at his phone. He was disappointed—though, not surprised—when he saw the text consisted only of the address of where he was to go. He set his phone to the side and ran his hand over his face, groaning.  
He’d really fucked things up with Mycroft last night…  
_‘No point crying over spilled milk, kitten.’_  
He shook the voice from his head and pushed himself out of bed, letting the sheets fall from his form. He padded across the bedroom to the bathroom and took a warm shower, standing under the water for a while before actually cleaning himself up. After he had dried off and dressed, he went to the kitchen and made himself some toast and eggs, also making up a cup of coffee and one of tea.  
_‘Tiger…you made my tea.’_  
“…Yeah, guess I did…” He muttered, sighing. He didn’t bother pouring it out though, and just let the tea sit on the counter while he went to sit with his breakfast. He ate slowly and drank some of his coffee. He grabbed his mug and brought it to the balcony with him while he had his first smoke of the day.  
With all of that finished, he grabbed his already packed rifle bag and slung it over his shoulder. He made sure to turn the lights off before heading out, locking the flat behind him.  
He meandered his way through crowds and side streets, heading straight for the address provided for him by his handler. He winced at that thought but pushed it aside quickly as he climbed the fire escape of the building across the way from the address provided. He set everything up and used his scope to search for Mycroft.  
[So far so good. Hope everything goes well on the inside. –SM]  
He wasn’t expecting any sort of response, but he wanted the other man to know his eyes in the sky were there for him.

Loyal to a fault. Loyal beyond words. Loyal beyond heartbreak.  
That is, in essence, Sebastian Moran.  
And Mycroft is thankful for his eyes in the sky.  
He does, much to his own surprise, respond when he gets inside.  
[Thank you. Remain vigilant, please. MH]  
Things go surprisingly well inside. There’s no bloodshed between world powers. No one from the United Nations kills one another. After all, they /are/ devoted to peacekeeping.  
Afterward, he texts Sebastian again.  
[Leaving now. Everyone’ll be out in a minute or so. MH]  
That’s all he says, though. He’s locked his heart away, if one could call it that.  
Mycroft feels like a fool. So, /focus on work/, he tells himself. Work is an excellent antidote. Sebastian will forgive and forget, eventually, about his affection for the man.

He watched through his scope as Mycroft stepped inside the building. Several other people followed and the doors were closed. He wondered what kinds of things went on behind those closed doors, wonder if Mycroft would even be able to answer him if he asked.  
_‘Someone’s watching, Tiger.’_  
Sebastian furrowed his brow and looked away from the scope to look around behind him.  
_‘Not you, kitten. Someone’s watching your new master…’_  
He quickly whipped back around, scope to his eyes as he searched the ground. He didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary at first. Everyone below was bustling about as per was the norm.  
“Where? What are you seeing that I’m no—“ he spotted a man, standing near shadows. He blended so fucking well, standing there with his fucking newspaper, but his eyes were clearly not on the paper.  
“That doesn’t mean anything, Jim…He could just be after the meetings. He’s not necessarily after Mycroft…” He muttered quietly, keeping his eyes on that man until he saw the people filing out of the building.  
When he spotted Mycroft exiting, he quickly moved back to look back where the man was but—“He’s gone…” He breathed, his brow furrowed against the scope. He thought about warning Mycroft, thought about telling him.  
_‘No need to panic him if he doesn’t already know. We don’t know the motives yet, dear.’_  
Sebastian nodded absently and grabbed his phone, a surprised look passing his face when he saw he had messages from Mycroft.  
[Seems everyone has trickled out. What do you need me to do? –SM]

[Nothing more. Pack up, head home. A check will be deposited later on in your bank account for your work today. MH]  
He’s thankful for his eyes in the sky. He truly is. A moment later he texts Sebastian again.  
[Thank you. Good work today. MH]  
He too heads home, if only to enjoy his one afternoon alone. He needs that time to himself.  
He’d rather be spending that time alone with Sebastian at his side, but…Alas, some things were never meant to be. Apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little Jim voice in his head isn't all bad...  
> he can be helpful sometimes~


	12. But the Mask Always Falls

He shouldn’t have been surprised by the texts, and how distant they seemed, but still it stung a little when he read it. He sighed and shoved his phone in his pocket before cleaning up his gear and heading for the way home. He stopped and got some food on the way, bringing it home with him.  
 _‘You ordered the usual, you idiot…’_  
Sebastian shrugged the voice off as he kicked his boots off in the doorway, closing and locking the door behind him. He made his way over to the table, dropping his rifle bag off against the wall. He sat down and set the food down before burying his head in his hands.  
 _‘You can make this better…You’re good at bringing people around, Tiger.’_  
“Seriously Jim, just…just shut the fuck up for a bit, yeah?” He growled, scrubbing at his face out of frustration.  
He ate his food, had a cigarette and sat himself in front of the telly, putting a movie on. The music intro for Coraline played and he slumped back, digging his phone from his pocket.  
[Hope you got home safely. Message me with the details for the next one when you can. –SM]  
He paused a moment after sending the text, reading it over. He sounded like the other man. Distant.  
[Have a good-night, Mycroft. –SM]

[You as well. Have a good evening. MH]  
The reply comes hours later — only because Mycroft has had his phone charging. But it does come. And he truly meant what he said.  
Only, at home, he sits. In front of a warm fire, a glass of single malt whiskey beside him on an end table.  
It’s his sanctuary. A little piece of heaven for him. And he’ll enjoy it whilst he can. It’s very rare that he ever has days off. Afternoons off.  
But today is an exception. And he’s thankful.

But Sebastian doesn’t get the text until morning. He had left his phone on the table with the Chinese food boxes, and he didn’t hear the buzzing over the sound of the movie. Or perhaps he didn’t hear it over the sound of his own sobbing. Couldn’t be sure which sound was the one that truly blocked out the buzzing phone.  
 _‘Tiger, you’re torturing yourself like this…’_  
But he didn’t care.  
He missed living here /with/ someone. He used to love being alone, sure, before Jim Moriarty. But now…The loneliness was crushing. Eventually, he found himself falling asleep, and he didn’t even bother to change, or move to his room. Instead, he slept there, on the couch, the movie running on repeat.  
He woke later, before the sun was even thinking about rising, to a nightmare. He pushed himself from the couch and padded to the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass of water, downing it. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, walking to the table to grab his phone. He read the message there for him and sighed.  
[Hope your sleep is better than mine. –SM]

Mycroft sees the text in the morning, sighing quietly to himself.  
How much longer can they go on like this?  
Much longer, apparently, is the answer.  
In the coming weeks, Mycroft is kind, but quiet. Courteous, but business-like. There are no more meetings over at Sebastian’s place, exchanged chatter and quotes over tea. But there is a sense of balance. A sense of belonging. He can feel that from Sebastian. Perhaps the sniper is genuinely beginning to enjoy working for Her Majesty’s government, or perhaps he’s merely glad to have his mind off of what he’s lost.  
Either way, it’s beneficial to all parties, and Mycroft is glad to lose himself in the dull passing of time.  
Time goes by so quickly these days for him, doesn’t it?? It always had, surely, but he’d never noticed.  
And now, now things feel different to him, perhaps because he /realizes/ and /knows/ that he has no one to spend that time with.  
He’s lonely. Loathe as he is to admit it.  
One night, however, in the pouring rain, he needs to make a stop at Sebastian’s flat on Conduit Street, Mayfair. West London is an area, admittedly, that he chooses not to frequent. But tonight is different.  
He’s worried.  
There comes a rapping of knuckles on Sebastian’s door. Then:  
[I’m outside. Open up. MH]  
[Please be home. MH]

Weeks go by. Mycroft brings him small ‘eyes in the sky’ jobs here and there. But he never comes by anymore. They don’t spend time together outside of the requirement for a job. The texts are business-y.  
So Sebastian fills his time the only way he knows how.  
With work.  
Work of his own, of course.  
Chasing down the man that had been following after Mycroft since the first meeting job.  
He was there, wherever Mycroft would go. Watching. Plotting fucking something.  
By the time the night came with the terrible downpour of rain, Sebastian’s flat was in another state like before the first job.  
Papers were scattered about, pictures of the man following Mycroft. Leads that went cold too quickly. Bottles of alcohol and overflowing ashtrays.  
He was only pulled out of his own head when his phone buzzed and he grabbed it from the coffee table, looking over the message.  
[Of course I’m home where else would I be? –SM]  
He pushed himself from the floor and went to the closet by the bathroom, grabbing a towel before making his way to the door and opening it. “I’ll put tea on before you catch your death.” He said, ushering the man in so he could wrap the towel about his shoulders.

He almost winces at the touch, at the way Sebastian drapes a towel around him.  
It’s sweet. Caring.  
He knows it’s there, tangible.  
“Before I catch my death? I…You needn’t be so worried about me, Sebastian.”  
He watches the man wander off before his gaze finds the living room.  
Paper are littered about, piled high here or there. Ashtrays are strewn about the room, a few whiskey bottles around.  
A disaster is what the room is. Complete disarray and chaos.  
All at once Mycroft is concerned.  
Pushing away his thoughts, Mycroft follows Sebastian.  
“I’m here…for a reason.” He pulls out his cell phone to show Sebastian a text he’d received earlier.  
[Received: 8:59 pm; I’m back. Look at all the trouble you’ve been up to. JM]  
“It’s fake. It must be. It can’t be real.”

“Needn’t be so worried—Mycroft Holmes, if you weren’t my boss in one sense or another I might actually laugh at you for saying such a thing.” He muttered, not even sure Mycroft would hear him, not that it mattered one way or another. He was so used to talking to himself these days.  
He set the kettle on, grabbing out the mug and cup from the last time the other man had visited. “I figured there had been a reason. You don’t just come over for social calls anymore.” He added, unable to help that his voice sounded quite bitter. He turned and when he saw the fucking signature of the message he was being shown, his mug slipped from his hand, smashing against the floor.  
His breath caught in his throat and he shook his head. “No, he….you said he was dead….he-he shot himself in the head he couldn’t have…It’s not…” He swallowed heavily, his heart starting to race.  
 _‘Calm down, Tiger. Maybe it’s your guy…’_  
“Shut up Jim, not now.” He hissed, forgetting the company he was in for a moment, his head too muddled. “No he’s…I’ve called all of his known numbers, there hasn’t been any answers on any of them. He’s…He can’t be alive, Mycroft, he can’t be…” He turned away from the message, but it was burned into his retinas, so even when he closed his eyes he could see it there.  
 _‘I am dead, kitten. Tell him. About. Your guy.’_  
“Why would you do this to me…?” He breathed, not really speaking to Mycroft. He gripped the counter, trying to keep himself steady.  
He had been getting better….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*gasp!* Is Jim alive~?!_


	13. How The Mighty Do Fall

Mycroft is a smart man. A clever man. It takes him all of 4.2 seconds to realize, in reality, that Sebastian is no longer speaking to him, but to someone else.  
“Stop it,” Mycroft says. “Don’t you even…”  
It hurts. Oh, it bloody hurts. He loves this man more than mere words could ever describe and here he is, speaking to a /dead man/ in his head. The same dead man that tore his little brother’s world to shreds.  
So yes, Mycroft snaps. It’s a rarity but it does, on occasion, occur under the worst of circumstances.  
“Look at me, Sebastian Moran. James Moriarty is dead. And you are all the better for it. He was a criminal. A psychopath. You cannot love a madman. You can only become one, yourself. That which you thought you held was a fallacy. It wasn’t /real/. Look at me.”  
He snags the man’s wrist with a forceful grip.  
“Speak to me. Not the voice in your head, Moran.”

Mycroft’s words register harshly in Sebastian’s head, where he’s still lost for a moment before the man grabs his wrist, grounding him.  
He hadn’t realized his eyes were watering until he looked up at Mycroft, and the man was swimming in his eyes.  
“He…” His voice broke on the one word and his breathing was suddenly shallow and stuttering as he fought back the urge to break. He couldn’t.  
Fucking hell he’d broken in front of this man enough he couldn’t do it again.  
 _‘Tell him, kitten. I know you can do it…’_  
His jaw clenched, fighting the urge to snap at Jim’s voice again, but he shook his head. A few tears managed to slip from his eyes and down his cheeks.  
“He knows….he knows me.” He breathed, trying to focus himself, keep himself here, with Mycroft. “There’s a man, Mycroft he’s…He’s been following you, since my first job. I….I noticed him.” He continued, taking a shuddering breath in.  
 _‘Keep going. It’s alright…’_  
“I’ve been following him since then, and he’s been following you, to every meeting you’ve stationed me at. I….but this…” He swallowed heavily, things starting to piece together in his head, his eyes widening a bit.  
The man knew.  
Knew him. Knew his feelings for Jim.  
Knew his new…whatever this was with Mycroft and was using it against the other man.  
“He’s going to make an attempt on your life…” He breathed, the realization hitting like a ton of bricks.  
Somehow, this man knew of Mycroft’s….feelings for Sebastian. Must have factored in the snipers feelings for his late boss, and concocted a plan to use both men’s emotions against them.  
“This was the piece I was missing…” He breathed, looking up at Mycroft, a sharky grin lighting up his tear stained face.  
 _‘Thatta boy, Tiger…’_

So much has happened in mere moments.  
“Sebastian…What are you saying?”  
Someone’s after him? They’ve been watching the Iceman closer? They’ve learned of (or assumed about) his affection for the sniper?  
“He’s going to attempt….Are you sure?”  
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. No, he couldn’t.  
Someone was going to try to kill him. Was that not enough?  
He sets the towel aside, listening as a crack of thunder sounds and the flat nearly vibrates.  
He’d snapped — emotionally — a moment ago. He isn’t quite sure how to feel right now. About anything.  
“Why didn’t you tell me about this man? You never mentioned it.”

He hung onto Mycroft’s words, following his thoughts.  
Until the thunder.  
The fucking thunder.  
He knew the rain was bad but—  
When the thunder rumbled, nearly shaking the flat, all thoughts flew out the window and his heart practically jumped into his throat as he dropped like a sack of potatoes. He crouched there, at Mycroft’s feet, holding his knees to his chest. He was sure that near scream had escaped from his own lips but didn’t have the mind space to be embarrassed for his action.  
It partially registered in his head that Mycroft had asked him something. What did he ask him? It even barely registered that the Jim voice in his head was trying to talk to him.  
He began to rock in place, tears streaming down his face. There was a stinging pain in his hand that he didn’t know where it was coming from, and a trickling warmth. He was about to question it when the lightning flashed, lighting up the entire flat.  
He buried his face against his knees, counting out loud, trying to measure the storm.

All at once thunder rumbles the entirety of the flat and Sebastian drops to the floor.  
Mycroft’s reaction is to kneel down beside the man and draw him closer. At least he accomplished the former, falling to his knees and delicately touching Sebastian’s shoulder.  
PTSD….  
Panic….  
The man had a shopping list of medical issues. Mycroft couldn’t and most certainly wouldn’t judge him.  
“Seb…”  
That’s when he realizes Sebastian’s cut himself. The air smells sweet and yet metallic.  
“Sebastian, look at me. Trust me. You’re alright. You’re right here with me. You’ve cut your palm.”  
Mycroft’s fingers brush the assassin’s cheek, tenderly, stroking his warm skin and trying to calm him.

The feel of Mycroft’s hand on his shoulder makes him flinch, his head still buried in his knees. His words register slightly and he looks up, seeing Mycroft, but also seeing through him. Memories flash through his head for a moment and then there’s a cool hand on his cheek and his breathing catches for a moment.  
“I…” He squeezed his eyes closed, tears slipping down his cheeks, still rocking slightly. It had been so long since he’s panicked like this. “I’m sorry…” He breathed. “I’m sorry….I’m sorry…” He repeated, shaking his head.  
He was pathetic. It was a fucking storm. He was indoors. It was just sound and flashes of light. He wasn’t likely to get hurt. But here he was, the supposed big strong assassin that he was supposed to be…And he was destroyed so easily by a fucking storm.  
He couldn’t help his next action, as he released his grip on his knees and threw himself at Mycroft, burying his face against the man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry….” He breathed again, though his voice and quiet hiccuping sobs were muffled against the other men. His body was trembling, and he was sure that he’d now also cut his knee in the process of moving.

He goes falling backwards to sit on his backside, on the floor, shocked. Sebastian’s in his arms, holding him tightly. He’s never been held in such a way before.  
“Stop apologizing,” he begs of Sebastian, merely sitting there as he tries, practically in vain, to decide what to do.  
/Return the embrace/, his heart tells him. And so he does. His arms wind around Sebastian’s shoulders tentatively.  
The cuts can wait. This man’s /in his arms/. It’s all he’s never and yet always wanted. But not like this. Not now. Not this way.  
“You’re alright,” he whispers softly, a hand cupping his neck to draw him against his chest, offering the man a bit of tenderness.  
“It’s only a storm. You’re here with me. I’m sorry that I came by. This was all my fault. The text message, everything else…I’m so sorry.”  
His heart aches. He yearns for something more, But it’ll never come. What he feels is unrequited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Poor Sebby is absolutely terrified of the sounds from the storms._
> 
> Another cliffhanger my dears, my apologies~


	14. Sometimes the Wisest are the Most Foolish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay on upload!  
> I'll upload a few chapters to make up for it!

As the sounds calmed outside, for the moment at least, Mycroft’s words registered clearly in his ears. He couldn’t help the light, broken chuckle that escaped him as he pressed himself impossibly closer to the other man.  
“You are a powerful man, Mycroft Holmes, but even you, in all your brilliance, do not control the weather…” He breathed, his body still trembling. He was sure Mycroft could feel his heartbeat skip and stutter from where his hand was cupping his neck. “If you hadn’t come…” He swallowed heavily, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment. “If you hadn’t come I’d have been alone…” He whispered. He wanted to kiss the man, wanted to thank him in any and every way he could think of doing.  
But the pain kicked in as the adrenaline drained. He hissed in pain. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, you aren’t either.” He managed through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t know if this would ever happen again, this closeness with Mycroft.

Truthfully, he’s barely able to draw a breath. This is almost too much for him.  
Too much, indeed.  
He’s sat there, arms around Sebastian to keep him close.  
“Sebastian…”  
The name falls from his lips in a soft whisper, almost as if he’s murmuring a quiet, ‘I love you,’ instead.  
It’s all that needs saying.  
“You’re bleeding,” he reminds the man, breaths warm on Sebastian’s throat and cheek.  
It’s comforting, in a way, to know that he’s bringing this man a sense of amenity in a time so dark, so terrible.  
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he whispers quietly, into the calm between booming thunder and lightning strikes outside.  
“You don’t have to feel this way. There’s doctors you can talk to, about your PTSD.”  
He closes his eyes, reveling in the moment for one more beat, and another, before eventually drawing back to reach for Sebastian’s injured palm.  
“Do you have a first-aid kit in the flat, Sebastian?”

Mycroft’s breath on his throat, on his cheek, had his mind going a bit fuzzy. He kept thinking about the man’s lips; his lips on the skin of his neck, on his jaw—He almost couldn’t focus on the man’s words. But his brow furrowed slightly and he shook his head.  
“I’ve talked to doctors before. Talking doesn’t fucking help… Or rather it hasn’t in the past.” He murmured, clenching his jaw a bit. “I’m not…I don’t like opening up to people. Especially not people I don’t know, or trust. I….have a problem with that, I guess.” He admitted sheepishly.  
He made a small, disappointed sound when Mycroft pulled away slightly, not wanting the contact to be over.  
“I uhm…there might be one in the bathroom, under the sink. I think that’s the last place I put it…” He added, referring to the first aid kit. “I’m going to clean up the rest of the glass.” Before Mycroft could protest, he continued, “No point us both getting cut or anything. I’m already bleeding, might as well be the one to clean it up.”

It physically pains him to draw away from Sebastian, truthfully. There was something in the man’s eyes. He’s unguarded, vulnerable. There’s no mask.  
And Mycroft sees it. /Longing/.  
After all, it’s hard to miss.  
Rather breathless now, he draws away and wanders off to the loo to fetch a first-aid kit.  
Thankfully, it’s where Sebastian predicted. He returns a short while later, laying everything out on the kitchen table to wait for Sebastian to finish up. He would help, but he knows he’d only be nudged away.  
“That can wait. Come here a moment, Sebastian. Please.”

When Mycroft goes away to grab the first-aid kit, Sebastian grumbled a bit and pushed himself up from the floor. He grabbed a dust pan and knelt down again, cleaning up the glass. He glanced up when Mycroft called him over and shook his head. “No, no. Let me clean this up, first. I don’t want you patching me up and then come back to fucking clean and I just give myself another damn cut somewhere.” He hummed, his body still shaking slightly, but his voice was calmer.  
He got everything into the dust pan and carefully walked it to the trash bin, dumping it in. “Was my favorite fucking mug, too…” He muttered absently, looking down at the remains of his dearly departed mug. “Ah, well…” He sighed, closing the lid. He padded across the floor, making sure to walk over the spot where the mug had broken, humming.  
“No more pieces.” He murmured, making his way over to Mycroft. “….I appreciate you being here, Mycroft….really.” he said, looking up at him, a small nervous smile touching his lips.

Mycroft, in all seriousness, feels as if the ice he’d placed around his heart so long ago is once again melting. Why is it that Sebastian Moran, of all people, has this effect on him?  
Pure and simple — chemistry.  
On a molecular level, the Iceman is draw to the Tiger.  
The realization is not one to be taken so lightly.  
Mycroft Holmes is in love and it might just bring the world down around them.  
God forbid…  
He reaches for the sniper’s hand, gently and tenderly beginning to clean the cuts — with an air that suggests he’s studied in medical science and nursing. It’s clinical, gentle, but hurried. Nothing is missed. And afterward, he bandages the man’s hand.  
“Sit down, won’t you? Let me have a look at your knee.”  
He pulls a chair out for Sebastian, a single brow arched.

As Mycroft cleaned his hand, Sebastian winced and let out hisses here and there, grumbling. “Fucking hell….” he muttered absently, before taking a seta in the chair that Mycroft had pulled out for him. “You’ve uh…you’ve had a lot of practice doing this kind of stuff?” he asked curiously, wanting to get his mind off of the stinging that would again commence when the other man started to clean his other wound.  
His mind wandered for a moment to how it might be difficult to reach through his pants, but he shook it off when his cheeks flushed. He’d be sitting in the fucking chair half naked in front of Mycroft fucking Holmes…that would be embarrassing.  
More so embarrassing than the previous events of the evening thus far.  
“Did you….study this in school or something? Dr. Watson, when we were stationed together all those years ago, taught me some basic things here and there…” he murmured absently, scratching at his cheek.

“You served with John Watson,” he says, surprised at that. he’d nearly forgotten.  
Kneeling down on one knee, he pauses, then gazes back up at the assassin.  
“Hold still,” he merely says.  
And oh, the tension is unbearable. Mycroft Holmes, down on his knees in front of Sebastian Moran. What on earth is he doing?  
He chuckles, slowly rolling the trouser leg up. The denim is soft beneath his callused hands.  
He’s so gentle, though. So very delicate.  
“I studied in the medical field for a time,” he says, trying to break the silence. “After all….I had such good practice, being home with Sherlock. He was always starting fights and getting bullied in school.”  
He sighs, a thought coming to mind: surely Sebastian didn’t think he needed to tug his jeans off. Oh, Mycroft almost laughs. No, that certainly wasn’t going to happen.  
Mycroft rolls the material up, taking care in cleaning and bandaging Sebastian’s knee.  
“I know, earlier, you said you don’t get on well with therapists….but I have a friend. You might want to consider calling him. Your PTSD won’t go away on its own.”  
He pauses.  
“There’s no shame in needing someone to listen to your problems.”

Sebastian hissed and winced here and there while Mycroft cleaned up his knee, but all he could think about was that Mycroft was there…on his knees….  
He swallowed heavily and averted his gaze from the sigh before him, one he’d undoubtedly never see again. It was already burned into his memories, anyway.  
“I’m…I’m sorry.” He said softly. And at first, he wasn’t even sure why he had been apologizing. “If I’d gone to the same school, I’d have taken out his bullies.” He said absently. He blinked, glancing to Mycroft when he’d realized what he’d said. “I have an…issue with bullies.” He muttered, the only form of explanation that he planned to give.  
When his knee was patched up, he looked between his hand and his knee, and Mycroft. He smiled softly. “I don’t want to confront those feelings of mine, Mycroft.” He added after a moment, regarding his offer of a therapist to contact. “There’s a lot in my past that I’m not…proud of. That I don’t want to think about. It’s easier to just move forward. If not confronting those past things means I’m stuck being weak, then I’ll deal with that.” He murmured, absently reaching out and touching Mycroft’s cheek. He didn’t realize he was doing it, he had just wanted to, and then he was.

The air grows terse the very moment Sebastian reaches out to him, caressing his cheek with a quivering hand.  
He blinks away any initial surprise, his gaze eventually rising to Sebastian’s features.  
“What are you…doing?”  
He bloody well knows. He knows everything. He’s Mycroft Holmes, for god’s sake.  
Holmes the Wiser always knows. It’s a rather terrible curse, being so intelligent.  
Slowly, ever so slowly, he moves closer to Sebastian whilst smoothing out his denim trousers, unfolding them where he’d needed to.  
“Be more careful,” he quietly says. “About glass. About getting yourself injured.”  
How can he possibly say all this, like nothing’s happening? It’s a bit of normalcy in a moment such as this. He needs it.  
They may never—and mostly likely will never—find themselves in a similar situation again.  
He’ll revel in it whilst he can. As the moment comes to pass.


	15. The Game

What was he doing? That’s what Mycroft wanted to know…but the sniper wasn’t even sure himself. He had just wanted to touch Mycroft. It…was almost just to make sure he was real and not just some figment of his panicked mind.  
“Being careful, in my line of work?” He chuckled lightly and brushed his thumb against Mycroft’s cheek, searching his face for a moment.  
“I protect others. Not myself. I’m expendable. Always have been, always will be.” He said quietly, pulling his hand away then, a sadness touching his features.  
“What’s your favorite chess piece, Mycroft? My preference is the rook. They’re straight shooters that can move in their chosen direction until they either choose to stop, or hit a target.” He tore his gaze away from Mycroft’s face to glance out the window, his jaw clenching when a flash of lightning in the distance lit up his eyes.  
“But rooks are inherently expendable. The only piece that truly matters is the King. The Queen is important enough, but she doesn’t decide the fate of the game. The King does. Whether he stands or falls…” He swallowed heavily.  
He was positive that the other man would think he was referring to James, but…He wasn’t even sure, himself, that he was referring to his late boss.  
 _‘He’s your King now, Tiger. He decides your game…’_  
“…and who I have to protect with my life.” He froze, not having meant to finish Jim’s thought out loud. His cheeks flushed slightly and he pushed himself out of the chair, moving clumsily to the kitchen.  
“So ah…tea, then? Milk and one sugar?” He asked, in an attempts to avoid talking about what he had just said.

Oh, there’s that all too familiar ache again.  
“You aren’t expendable to me,” Mycroft says quietly. “Not in any way. I wish you’d see that.”  
He follows the man off to the kitchen, thinking over all that he’d said about chess and The Game.  
“You’re a Knight. Not a rook,” he adds, stopping in the doorway to watch—and examine—Sebastian.  
“You are important, and needed. To me. To the country. You have a purpose, yes? Because you do now.”  
/I’m your purpose/, he’s thinking.  
He won’t avoid this conversation.  
“You’re still hearing him, aren’t you? Everywhere you go, every little thing you do?”  
If only Sebastian would see a therapist…

He was…Important? To Mycroft?  
 _‘Tell him, Tiger.’_  
His grip tightened on the kettle with the combination of Jim’s and Mycroft’s words. He was a knight? …He didn’t agree, but he didn’t feel like arguing either.  
 _‘I think he means in more of a medieval sense and not…chess.’_  
“I hear him all the time, now.” He admitted quietly, making Mycroft a cup of tea. He searched through the cupboard for another mug, pulling out one of Jim’s. He stared at it for a moment before setting it down and making himself some tea as well.  
“Sometimes it’s helpful. Like my subconscious talking to me.” He murmured. “He was the voice in my head that let me know I saw something out of the ordinary that I didn’t catch onto at first. That man following you.” He clarified, sighing. He turned and handed Mycroft the cup, looking up at him.  
 _‘And he’s the one telling you your feelings!’_  
Decidedly, he ignored that comment.  
“He talks more to me now than he ever did when he was still alive. Every fucking thing I do he has some sort of comment, some remark. …Sometimes it’s advice. And sometimes it’s bad.” He shrugged slightly, averting his gaze. “Do you think that makes me weak?” He asked, his voice suddenly going softer. “He’s gotten louder since—“  
 _‘Since he closed himself to you. Sebastian, don’t you /get/ what’s happening? Honestly….it’s so dull in your funny little head sometimes.’_  
“…it doesn’t matter. I don’t always listen to him.” He murmured, chewing the inside of his cheek a moment. “Can we talk about something else…? Like what to do about this mystery man following you?” Another tactic to change the subject, since the previous attempt had failed.

Sebastian deliberately changes the subject. And that, that Mycroft won’t ignore. He understands. Sebastian won’t accept any help about this. He may never.  
But /if/ he does, it must be on his own terms. Not Mycroft’s.  
Merely sighing now, he thinks over all that his sniper has said about this mystery man.  
“Someone wants me dead, it would seem. I’m neither surprised, nor worried. Can’t explain why.”  
/Perhaps because the Tiger’s watching out for you/, he’s thinking, much to his own chagrin. /And he might just get hurt, himself, protecting you/.  
“The list of organizations and individuals whom want me dead is vast, I assure you. I’m not quite sure how to answer you questions, Sebastian. What would /you/ recommend? Luring him out again, perhaps?”

Sebastian furrowed his brow, blowing on his tea carefully before taking a sip as he thought. He set the mug down after a moment. “Do you have any other meetings coming up soon? Public one, something like what has been going on the past jobs.” He searched Mycroft’s face, more than thankful that the man had gone along with what he had asked about changing the subject.  
“He’s been at every damn meeting, watching you. So he’s following you, that much is clear,” He murmured, scratching his chin, mind still racing with thoughts and ideas.  
“If we can get you into and through another meeting, I can do what I can to pin him down and get some information out of him. We can find out who he’s working with, or for.”

He listens intently. He’s always been a listener, more than a talker. A thinker. A /quiet/ thinker.  
He allows himself a moment to dwell before speaking up.  
“I’ve a meeting with the Prime Minister in two days time. Other than that, I’ll be at my office, at MI5 Headquarters, for the remainder of the week. Will that do?”  
There’s a tiny nagging feeling, something telling him this isn’t the brightest plan in the world. But for the time being, it’s all they have. There isn’t much else they can do.  
“You need to come with me, alright? Get dressed. Lock the flat up. Come to the Thames House with me. It’s about time you saw it. There’s some individuals you might need to speak with. I’m not comfortable doing this alone. I’m sorry, but I’m not. It could mean the Prime Minister’s life is also in jeopardy. I can’t allow that.”


	16. Another Holmes

The sniper, of course, has a moment where he’s a bit offended and hurt. But he understands. It’s Mycroft’s job, after all. And while Sebastian was obviously capable, there were just some things that couldn’t be left to chance like that.  
“….I understand.” He said, nodding carefully before pouring out his tea and setting the mug in the sink. “Give me a moment, I’ll be right back.” He said, flashing Mycroft a small smile before hurrying off to his room.  
He opened his closet and frowned a bit, grabbing a black shirt and flannel, pulling both on and then a pair of jeans. He ran his fingers through his hair and strapped his knife to his left ankle and his handgun to his right. He sat on his bed and pulled his boots on, tying them, before heading back to Mycroft.  
“Do I need my rifle with me?” He asked, grinning. Otherwise, all he had to do was grab his jacket and keys and he’d be ready to go.

“No, I would rather you left the rifle bag home.”  
He chuckles after calling to Sebastian from where he’s stood in the kitchen. He slips into his coat, wrapping up warm with a cashmere scarf and readying himself with his umbrella. His driver’s outside—and as an afterthoughts, he texts the man to tell him where they’ll be needing to go. That way no speaking will be required. It was difficult enough, through the privacy screen between the front and back seats. As he waits for Sebastian, he relaxes himself.  
This is /nothing/ against Sebastian’s abilities. What the sniper will need, though, is a few agents to back him up. Just to make sure nothing goes wrong.  
If anything, it’s a compliment to the Tiger’s skilled abilities. He’s ready for a team of his own, whenever he may require the help.

The sniper smiled gently and grabbed his jacket and keys from by the door. “Alright, then.” He said, winking at Mycroft. “Then let’s get going then, shall we?” He hummed, looking over at Mycroft again.  
He was still a bit nervous about sharing the responsibility of Mycroft’s safety with someone else. ….but this is what the man wanted, so he was sure as shit not about to argue with him.  
He let Mycroft out and locked the flat behind them. “Do you think they’re going to be okay with the plan? They can do whatever to keep the Prime Minister safe. But you’re my responsibility.” He said, staking his claim then and there.

He guides the assassin outside with him, unable to resist the small—albeit nervous—smile that’d found its way to his lips.  
Together, they slip into the black Lincoln and the driver pulls away from the curb.  
“I’m /your/ responsibility? Am I now?”  
Moonlight occasionally spills into the dark car through a window, along with light from the streetlamps and passing cars.  
Despite the darkness, Mycroft’s gaze is resting curiously on Sebastian’s features.  
“I wouldn’t dream of giving away /that/ position to someone else,” he says, almost in amusement. “This is more-so about the Prime Minister than it is about me. I have every bit of faith in you on that part.”

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed lightly, but the darkness in the car made him feel better about possibly keeping the color change from Mycroft. “I…sorry, I just…” he swallowed heavily, gripping his own knee a bit tightly, grounding himself.  
 _‘Just FUCKING tell him!’_  
“But you are my responsibility. Your safety….it’s nothing against your other agents. I’m sure they could and have protected you in the past. But…you hired me to protect /you/.” He said, sighing, relaxing. “I can tell you—with certainty—I’d protect you first and the Prime Minister second. Even if you told me to do the opposite.”  
He shook his head and flashed Mycroft a soft smile. “I’d go so far as to say I’d protect you over myself.”

Ah, now, that /is/ interesting. All of it.  
He leans in closer to Sebastian, eyes lingering on the assassin’s features. “You’re wrong about one thing,” he says softly. “I didn’t hire you to protect /me/. I hired you to work as a MI5 agent. Along the way, somehow, I suppose I just sort of…”  
He waves a hand for effect.  
“….adopted you as my own.” He smirks after, adding, “Not that I regret it. There’s no one else I’d rather have protecting me.”  
His gaze drifts to the window, watching the cityscape pass them by.  
“We’re almost there,” he says, warning Sebastian.

The way Mycroft leaned in, he was so fucking close he could almost feel the warmth from him. He chewed his lower lip absent-mindedly.  
“It wasn’t your original intent for me to be protecting you like this?” He asked curiously, looking across at the other man, who was now glancing out the fucking window. “What would I have been doing, were I not working more directly through you?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. “Would it have been similar work?” He added, the curiosities overflowing.  
 _‘Curiosity killed the cat, kitten. I’d be careful if I was you…’_  
He followed Mycroft’s gaze, looking out the window at their passing surroundings. “What should I be expecting when we get there?” He added to the ever growing pile of questions.

“You would have been working with me. I still would have been your handler.”  
He sighs.  
“You just would have been doing more, protecting others. You would have been given targets to take out. You wouldn’t have been protecting me.” Now, however, he’s doing both.  
Mycroft watches the expressions chase his sniper’s face, eyes roaming.  
“Expect….stress. I’m not sure what more there is to say. Stick to my side like glue, do you understand?”  
He pauses.  
“You’re under /my/ protection, in circumstances such as these.  
There are those, within MI5, who would rather see you rot in a prison cell. Or worse. So, keep quiet, be polite, and stay by my side.”

Oh great, they were going to a place with people that wanted him dead. He took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly, nodding.  
 _‘You’ve been through worse, Tiger. Time to be soldiers.’_  
“Like a stereotypical bodyguard.” He said absently, glancing away from Mycroft and out the window. He let his eyes slip closed as he relaxed himself and put on his best air of silent but deadly. “Be menacing without saying a word. Stand guard but don’t speak.” He said, throwing a grin at Mycroft. “I think I can manage that.” He added, playfully running two fingers over his lips as if he were zipping them shut. He mimed turning a key and tossing it out the window before winking at Mycroft again.  
 _‘Honestly, Sebastian….you’re such a child sometimes. How do you manage?’_

A mock-serious expression finds its way to Mycroft’s features. He chuckles, too, before slipping out of the vehicle. “You’re mine now. No one would dare touch you.”  
My, my….So possessive, Mycroft Holmes.  
He holds the door as Sebastian follows him out, then he gentle closes it.  
“Alright, now, follow me. And I must warn you. Beforehand. You might see Sherrinford whilst we’re here.”  
He starts walking, but stops to gaze Sebastian’s way behind him. “He’s my other younger brother. He’s with MI6.”  
And with that, they’re heading inside together, checking in through security and wandering down the long, dark hall in the front of the building.

The sniper was still processing that Mycroft Holmes had just…well, basically laid claim to him before he had dropped yet another bomb on him. “Wait, wait…you have /another/ brother?” he asked, picking up his pace and catching back up to Mycroft, walking beside him. He looked around the place nervously, though only darkness greeted him. This place was…rather dreary, to say the least. He was glad he didn’t have to work out of a place like this. He much preferred his freedom.  
“Are we…calling on this brother of yours for help?” he asked, continuing along the same line of questioning, wanting to know a bit more about this…mysterious other brother that he had no fucking clue about.  
For a moment, he wondered if Jim had known about another Holmes brother being in existence…  
 _‘Tiger, focus. You’re here for a reason, remember? You have a mission.’_  
The sniper nodded, though to anyone else looking on, they wouldn’t know why. He put his game face on, attempting to prepare himself for whatever might be in store.

“No, we aren’t recruiting my brother to help us.”  
/My brother who knows about my feelings for you/, he thinks bemusedly. “But, we may cross paths with him in the building.”  
He’s texting some agents, calling them all to the briefing room. He’ll show Sebastian to his office later as well, get him a keycard…Should he ever need entry in the MI5 building, he’ll be allowed in with clearance /and/ he’ll know where to find the elder Holmes most days.  
“This is your operation, Tiger. They’ll be looking to you for guidance, you do realize? I’ll be there to help, though.”  
/Always/. He casts his gaze Sebastian’s way, gaze soft yet determined.  
“Understood?”

/No pressure/, he thought absently, taking a deep breath and nodding. “My operation…” He repeated, running a hand over his face. “Mycroft….what if they don’t listen to me? You said there are those here that would rather see me behind bars or dead…How can you be sure the ones you’re picking to work with me aren’t amongst that group?” He asked, chewing his lower lip.  
 _‘You don’t deserve to be dead, kitten, don’t you dare think that…He’d be devastated, you know~.’_  
Sebastian rolled his eyes, hoping the dark of the hallway would hide the action from Mycroft, once he had time to think about how that would look otherwise.  
The possibility of another Holmes roaming the building had actually completely slipped his thoughts.

Sherrinford had commandeered a temporary office in the MI5 building, having been reassigned there due to the current political climate surrounding their new PM. There were rumblings throughout Europe that things could get dicey around London. MI6 thought it prudent to move him for a short time. He was under the direct orders of Lady Smallwood, but he hadn’t had a chance to share that tidbit with his brother yet. Imagine his surprise when he comes out of his office to find his brother and Sebastian Moran walking towards him. They hadn’t seen him yet. With a grin, he calls out.  
“Well, hello brother mine.”


End file.
